


A Lotus Creates Ripples

by LightDas12



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (With a pinch of homicidal tendencies), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azula is a Protective mother Duck, Gen, Iroh wants to commit fratricide, No one hurts her brother, Other than herself, Ozai's A+ Parenting, Siblings act like siblings, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2020-11-24 07:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20903819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightDas12/pseuds/LightDas12
Summary: The Fire Nation notices that the royal siblings work like a well-oiled machine. They are trusting of each other in a way nobles rarely are. When Firelord Zuko is crowned, he has a determined glint in his eye and compassion in his smile which isn't common for Firelords. Princess Azula lurks in shadows, smiling menacingly at anyone who has the audacity to not clap at her brother's coronation. Some wonder if they'd been born that way. The royal siblings beg to differ.or an alternative summary:Iroh is a good uncle. Zuko and Azula run away. They sort of kind of accidentally start revolutions.





	1. Childhood

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, long story short, I wanted a friendship fic with Azula, Zuko, Mai and Ty Lee and I've had this idea for like... seven months. (Also I read MuffinLance's fics and wanted Zuko to accidentally create more revolutions) But exams. And anxiety. And other real-life problems got in the way.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender (if this wasn't obvious) and uh... I'll probably not be saying this again. Because it's obvious. (In fact, I'll probably add this to my bio)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar

The young raven-haired princess yelps when a bright orange flame appears in her palms. The four-year-old stares at it with an intense look of concentration, mesmerized, as it dances. It flares when she inhales and shimmers when she exhales. She smiles. It looks kind of like the big, yellow ball in the sky, she thinks.

“Lala?”

Azula turns around and leaps into her brother’s arm, smiling even harder. She forgets that she is holding fire in her hands.

“Zuzu!”, she exclaims happily, “Look what I can-”

She cuts herself off because Zuzu isn’t paying attention to her. She pouts. Why is her brother jumping like that? Why is his face scrunched up painfully and why is he not paying attention to her? She wants to show her fire and…

Oh. His clothes are on fire. Mother always says that fire is dangerous. Still. She had seen father play with fire many times; he always said that royals should not be afraid of it. Zuzu is a royal. There should be no reason that her brother should have trouble dealing with fire.

Zuko wails. “Mama!”

Immediately mother comes rushing in. Her eyes widen at the sight of her son on fire, and she starts to whisper instructions to him. Azula taps her foot impatiently and waves her hands around. She wants to show her new trick!

Her annoyance, however, quickly vanishes as Zuko drops into the mud and starts to roll around. She giggles and proceeds to mimic her brother. She gets up when he gets up.

“Mum!” She says.

But Mother isn’t listening. Instead, she grips Zuko’s arm and starts to drag him somewhere. A frown mars Azula’s features as she watches them walk away.

She scrambles to follow them.

When she finally catches up (she hates having a toddler’s limbs), Mother has Zuzu’s arm immersed in a pond.

Azula claps her hands joyously. “Mum! Look! I can do fire”, she says. Maybe that will get her mother’s attention. It doesn’t.

But Zuzu is staring at her with wide eyes.

“Lala! What was that?”

Azula grins. Finally, someone is paying attention to her. She closes her eyes in a look of intense concentration. Remembering the feeling when she first lit the tiny flame, she focuses on the warm heartbeat coursing through her blood. A fire lights up in her palms. Once again, Azula watches it, mesmerized.

Mother is still clutching Zuzu’s hand, half immersed in water.

But Zuzu is watching the flames dance with curiosity. His mouth is slightly open.

“Woah”, he says excitedly. “That’s so cool Lala! You’re a firebender.

“Fire. Belder?”

“Fire Bender” Zuko corrects. “It’s like… when people make fire. It’s so awesome! You’re just like dad.”

At that, Azula jumps around and grins from ear to ear. “I’m a firebender. I’m a firebender”.

Zuko smiles at her.

Mother doesn’t. She is still fretting about Zuko’s burn.

**oOo**

“My little Lu Ten is going to join the war effort,” Iroh says fondly. “My little soldier boy. He is such an eager young man.”

Ozai quietly seethes. Perfect little Lu Ten. Top in the class at politics and history. The third-best firebender the century has produced. The sages say that his skills rival that of the previous Avatar, Roku. Both his father and his brother adore and coddle the boy. It is always Lu Ten this and Lu Ten that. Like he needed more proof that he was never going to ascend the throne.

Meanwhile, his failure of a son has not even produced a single spark. The sages say that he might be a non-bender. The first non-bender the Fire Nation royalty has had in a century. It is a disgrace.

Iroh had always been the lucky one.

“Dad?”

Speak of the little failure. Ozai wipes the contempt from his eyes. No matter his position, no one would accept or approve of him discarding his liability. The Fire Nation places immense emphasis on loyalty.

Zuko enters Ozai’s chambers with Azula in his arms. He raises an eyebrow and creates a wall of fire. Traditionally, only firelords have the wall of fire, but Ozai likes the sense of fear and superiority they create.

“Prince Zuko, I trust that the matters you have brought to me are of utmost importance. You are aware of the obligations and time cramps a prince has, are you not?”

His son straightens unconsciously at the formal tone, tinged with annoyance. A serious expression replaces his grin. Although it is difficult to look difficult with a four-year-old in one’s arms.

“Father I-”

He is interrupted as his sister kicks him in the stomach. Groaning, he drops her to the ground and she scrambles to get up.

The four-year-old princess lights a fire in her hand.

Ozai checks the position of the Sun. It is two months earlier than when Lu Ten bent his first flames.

The wall of fire flares up higher to hide his smile.

**oOo**

Father pats Azula’s head. Zuko feels a pang of jealousy hit his heart. He frowns. Father never pats him like that.

“Good job daughter. Together, you and I will dominate the world”

Zuko doesn’t know what ‘dominate’ means. But it is something that he isn’t included in. He scowls harder.

**oOo**

When Zuko bends flames at seven, Father doesn’t pat his head. Instead, he looks at him and then dismisses him with a single glance.

The storm is brewing outside. Six-year-old Azula tosses uneasily in her bed; the wind is howling loudly. It sounds like one of the monsters – Kemurikage – which father told her about. Have they come to get her because she hasn’t been good with firebending recently?

A loud roar crashes outside and Azula sits up, terrified.

Another roar.

She flinches.

Then she tiptoes out of her room. Maybe… if she isn’t in her room then the spirits won’t be able to find her. They won’t be able to punish her for being bad.

She thinks of going to her mother’s chambers.

But instinctively, her feet lead her to Zuko’s room.

She enters without knocking. Zuko is sleeping peacefully and clinging to his pillows and stuffed toys like his life depends on it. She scoffs internally. She threw away her dolls ages ago. Well… burnt them ages ago. Her father had told her to. He had said that playing with dolls was pointless and childish. She should grow out of these tendencies as soon as possible.

She tugs at the hem of Zuko’s shirt. When he doesn’t move, she pokes him.

“Dum dum”, she says.

Zuko gets up and rubs his eyes. His eyes are glazed over, his movements are sluggish and slow. “Lala?”, he says with some difficulty, “What are you doing here?”

“The Kemurikage will get me” she pats herself internally for pronouncing the complicated syllables and plops down next to him on the bed. “So I’m sleeping here”

“It’s just lightening Lala”, Zuko whispers as his half-lidded eyes shut down.

“No”, Azula says stubbornly. “They’re evil spirits”

She sleeps better that night than any other night.

**oOo**

The next day, the whole palace staff is in panic. The princess has gone missing. The pride and joy of the second prince has gone missing. They search for her in every nook and corner, but Azula is nowhere to be found.

Ursa rushes into Zuko’s room. “Zuko, we don’t-”

Then she pauses as she surveys the scene in front of her. The prince and the princess of the Fire Nation are sleeping with their limbs in a complicated, tangled knot that even the most skilled sailor would have trouble untying.

She quietly closes the door and goes to find her husband before he kills, banishes, maims or tortures any of the palace staff.

But the palace is a big place. She doesn’t find him.

**oOo**

Ozai slams into Zuko’s room without warning.

“Prince Zuko, have you seen Princess-”

His harsh voice cuts through their pleasant dreams like a sharp knife. They both hurry to detangle themselves and stare guiltily at their father. (They are guilty. Not because they were sleeping together. But because firebenders are supposed to wake up with the Sun)

“What is the meaning of this?”

Each word is spoken with cold fury, punctuated with disdain and laced with disappointment. The two royal siblings flinch.

Zuko’s first instinct is to point at his sister and say, ‘She came here!’, but then he notices that Azula’s hands are shaking. He remembers her voice last night, her words stubborn but her tone timid and laced with fear.

Azula is terrified. She stares at the cold fury in her father’s eyes. She has never seen that expression before. Her father had always been warm and full of pride. Never angry. But still, she musters up the courage to speak up. Mother had told her there was honor in being honest. She opens her mouth and then.

“I did it”

It isn’t her who has spoken. She looks at Zuko with thinly disguised surprise.

Ozai ignores it.

“I was scared of the lightning. So I went into La- I mean Azula’s room.”

Azula wants to facepalm. He is the worst liar ever. This is _his_ room.

But still, Ozai ignores the fact that they are in Zuko’s room and saunters over to him. He drags him outside by the ear.

She doesn’t see him for the rest of the day.

**oOo**

After lunch, she searches for him. She questions the guards and staff. But they’re too terrified to speak. She frowns. Why won’t they listen to her?

Then she thinks of how Father convinces someone to obey him.

“If you do not tell me where the prince is, I will burn you into ashes.” She mentally congratulates herself. The tone was perfect and she pronounced every word clearly. The maid points her in the direction where Zuko supposedly is.

She thinks she hears the word ‘monster’ behind her back.

**oOo**

She finds her brother locked in the closet. A guard hands her the key and she fumbles with the lock. Inside, Zuko is hugging his knees. She thinks that his shoulders are shaking. When she pulls him up to his feet, she sees that his eyes are rimmed red.

“Dark”, he croaks, “It’s so dark”

Oh. He is afraid of the dark. Afraid of the dark like she is afraid of lightning. She had found it curious why one of the candles in his room was almost always flaring even when he was sleeping.

She strokes his hair comfortingly. Even if she has to stand on her toes to reach them

**oOo**

The next time there is lightning, she is seven. She shivers and pulls up the blanket. As much as she’d like to, she doesn’t go to his brother’s room. She remembers with astonishing clarity what happened last time. The cold fury her father had displayed.

She doesn’t sleep that night.

She catches Zuko staring at the dark shadows in her eyes the next day. For a nine-year-old failure, he is astonishingly perceptive when someone else is hurting.

**oOo**

The next time there’s lightning, Zuko comes to her room.

“Scared of the lightning?” She asks drily even though she knows the answer. He nods jerkily and climbs into bed with her.

“Thanks”, she whispers and wonders if he heard it. She doesn’t douse the candle in her room. After all, he is afraid of the dark like she is of lightning. And she owes him.

He leaves at the crack of dawn and slips past the corridors, unnervingly silent for a nine-year-old.

**oOo**

“Your brother is weak for fearing lightning.” Ozai looks pleased with the new kata she has mastered. “Great firebenders can separate their emotions and control lightning. One day, I will teach you to master cold-blooded fire”

Azula flinches as Ozai releases a lightning bolt.

**oOo**

She drives Zuko away the next time there is lightning.

Azula learns to hide her flinches. She learns to be fascinated by the beam of deadliness; it is perfect, precise and deadly, just like her. But the dark circles after a storm still do not disappear.

**oOo**

Eventually, darkness becomes a friend. He clings to the shadows to escape the mocking stares of the courtiers and nobles. Silent and invisible. Almost like an assassin.

He still lights a candle every night though.

“Ugh”, Zuko throws his hands up after another failed attempt to make his fire burn brighter. He has been on this set for ages. And he just can’t get it right. His tutors have more or less given up on him and his father does nothing to contradict it. Although the fact that it is the middle of the night probably does not help. Firebenders and the moon do not go well together.

But then again, he couldn’t even get it right under sunlight.

Azula did it on her first try.

“Hey dum dum”

From behind the pillars, a figure walks up to him. Zuko glares at his sister in annoyance and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Azula, what are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night”

Azula raises an eyebrow. “You’re also here,'' she pointed out.

“Well, that’s because…” Zuko struggles to find an adequate excuse. He has never been the best liar. Then he frowns. “Well, whatever.”

He goes back to performing the kata, aware of the scrutinizing gaze of his sister. When the fire comes out as pathetic smoke (again), she laughs. “Zuzu, that’s the beginner’s set”

Zuko’s eyes darken and he huffs. He tries the set again. It fails. Again.

Azula places a hand over his chest. “Firebending comes from the breath,'' she says as if she were reciting from a textbook. “You’re trying to use raw strength. That won’t work if you want your flame to be brighter,” She snorts, “Not that you have a lot of strength anyway.”

An unrelenting rage churns in his heart like a storm. Not like a fire (fires are warm and comforting) but like icy water. He narrows his eyes. “Yeah Azula, I’m sure you’re so much better than me”, and storms out.

Azula’s brow furrows. That… wasn’t the outcome she had expected.

The next time Zuko does the kata, his breath is steady. His flames burn brighter. He scowls at the development.

When Azula brings Mai and Ty Lee to the palace, he doesn’t know what to think of them. The girls are pretty, he thinks and thinks no more. Because Azula has always been possessive and she probably wouldn’t want him to make friends with her friends. He tries not to think about how _he_ doesn’t have any friends yet.

His father does not want the world to know about him. He is a forgotten prince, most of the Fire Nation isn’t aware of his existence except for a few higher generals and the upper-class nobles. He isn’t allowed to go to the Royal Academy for Boys. He is tutored by private tutors, most of them handpicked by his father.

But, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want friends anyway. Once he gets better, everyone will celebrate him with pomp and show.

“Hey”, says a bright cheery voice which startles him. He trips and scowls at her; she is unfazed by it. “Zuzu, was it?”

“Don’t call me that!” he says on instinct. Then feels guilty as the pink girl draws back. “It’s Zuko”, he corrects.

She grins at him. “Hey, Zuko! So, you’re a prince?”

Zuko scrunches his nose. “Yes…?”

“Huh”, she examines him, “A bit on the scrawny side. But you’re still good looking. Too bad Mai likes you so much.” She laughs at his perplexed expression and winks at him. “Don’t worry I won’t go for you”

He blinks even more.

“Your aura is all muddled up and confused! Oh man, Mai…”

Zuko tunes out everything the overly cheerful girl has to say. Agni, he was right.

Girls were crazy. His sister was not an exception.

**oOo**

By the next day, all barriers between Ty Lee and him are broken down. They sit on the edge of the courtyard and chat animatedly with each other. Well, Ty Lee does most of the talking. Zuko stumbles over his words and nods at her. They both lament about their siblings.

Azula frowns at the two of them.

**oOo**

It is much harder to talk to Mai than to Ty Lee. The dark-haired girl is the complete opposite of Ty Lee - Dark, mysterious, cold and apathetic. Honestly, Zuko had been kind of intimidated. It was because of the pink acrobat that Zuko walked up to her. He awkwardly scratched the nape of his neck.

“Hey”, he starts and is startled to find a shy smile on the girl’s face. He has never seen Mai smile before.

“Hey”, she says.

“So… you’re friends with my sister.” He starts. Mai’s eyes soften.

“Yeah”, she says. Then adds. “She isn’t like other nobles”

Zuko snorts. “She is the princess of the Fire Nation.”

Mai stares at him for a minute. He shifts uncomfortably. “What?”

“You aren’t like other nobles either.”

He blinks. This time Mai snorts. “You wouldn’t last a day at court. They’d eat you up alive”

A silence descends upon them. Like everything with Zuko, the conversation is awkward but Mai is still smiling.

**oOo**

By the next day, they are more or less friends. She was quiet at first, but then her demeanor relaxed. Zuko feels strangely proud that Mai includes him in the group of people she trusts. She is still harder to talk to than Ty Lee, but Zuko finds her dry, sarcastic wit amusing. Especially when it is directed at the courtiers and noble children who whisper and gossip about him behind his back.

“You get bored?” he asks. Unlike with Ty Lee, it is usually him that does the talking.

“Yeah”

“You should try… throwing things. When you’re frustrated. I usually throw fireballs… But you can’t do that. Because you’re a non-bender.”

Mai looks at him with a deadpan stare. Zuko flushes. But when she thinks he isn’t looking, she gives him a small smile. The next day, she has a knife case and several dents on the wall.

Azula frowns. Mai never smiles in front of her.

(She doesn’t realize that Mai smiles at her when she isn’t looking. She doesn’t think of how her childhood has taught her to hide her emotions. She doesn’t realize the twitch in Mai’s mouth when she openly scoffs and mocks their uptight teachers. When she undermines the authority and turns up her nose at anybody who insults her.)

**oOo**

“Who’s your favorite character?” Azula asks him when she catches him reading ‘Love Amongst Dragons’. Zuko turns red and makes a horrible attempt to hide the book. Azula places a hand on her hips.

“No need to be embarrassed Zuzu. I’ve read it too. It is a highly famed piece of literature”

Zuko sighs. His gaze flickers to meet hers and he scrunches his nose. “It’s hard to choose between the Painted Lady or the Blue Spirit. I mean… the Painted Lady helps those who are hurt and the Blue Spirit steals from the rich and gives to the poor. I mean I know stealing is-”

He is cut off as Azula giggles in disbelief. “The Painted Lady and the Blue Spirit? _They_ are your favorite characters?”

“Well, then who is yours?” Zuko says defensively.

“The Kemurikage obviously. They are the _best,” she_ says with the stubbornness that can only exist in an eight-year-old. “They punish whoever disobeys the Firelord.”

“Well, they punish those who bring harm to the Fire Nation”

Azula rolls her eyes. “Same difference.”

Zuko pouts and crosses his arms. “But… but. The Painted Lady and Blue Spirit _help_ people. If it weren’t for them, the people wouldn’t be alive.”

“And the Kemurikage punish the bad guys”, Azula points out. “If it weren’t for them, they would attack again and again.

“Well…” Zuko crossed his arms and looked at her grumpily. “The Blue Spirit steals from the rich and gives to the poor”

Azula snorts. “Zuzu, we’re rich”

“But we aren’t mean.” Zuko insists. “Those people were horrible”

The prince and princess of the Fire Nation reduce themselves to squabbling like toddlers over their favorite characters.

**oOo**

But once they agree to disagree, they spend hours talking about the literary brilliance ‘Love Amongst the Dragons’ is. It is truly a treasure to humanity.

**oOo**

They groan simultaneously when they come out of the theatre. Both of them want to banish everyone who dared make their favorite scroll into a… horrendous joke. The Ember Island Play version was _horrible_.

“That was terrible.”

Zuko nods vehemently. “The scrolls were so much better”

“They _butchered_ it”

“They _murdered_ it”

“They took it and starved it. Then they scarred it and painted its torso in deep, deep reds. _Then_ they threw it in a dark, cold cell and left it to rot”

Zuko looks uncomfortable and vaguely sick at the vivid description. “Uh… yeah”

Then he looks indignant. “They turned the Painted Lady into a stupid damsel in distress. And turned the Blue Spirit into a dark, edgy character.” He huffs in frustration. “He is _such_ a jerk. What was that line _I’ll do whatever I have to to survive_? The Blue Spirit would rather _die_ than murder an innocent for food.”

“And the Kemurikage”, Azula makes a gesture with her arms. “They made them look so _dumb_”

“And that’s ignoring the main characters. The powerful dragon empress was… was”, Zuko sputters.

“An absolute idiotic lady who cried and wept all the time?” Azula suggests.

The whole day is spent complaining about the dumb play.

Ursa smiles. It is worth sitting through two hours of torture (the play really is terrible) to see her children get along like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Azula, in the end, are channeling my inner nerdiness. And just a gentle reminder that reviews are what makes a writer's life (like... you will not believe how much time I spend just... scrolling through the 18 reviews I got on my previous story which I've now deleted).
> 
> And another thing, if you have any ideas and want me to write them, then feel free to share them with me. I will appropriately credit you. Unless you're a guest or something (can you leave a comment as a guest? I don't really know.) And uh... I may or may not use ideas. Don't get mad. I just didn't get the inspiration for it.
> 
> Also, also, if you want to go on rants with me or discuss anything or just talk about our shared fandom, I would be like... ecstatic. I would absolutely love to talk to you and discuss about that one AU which you may or may not write or headcanons or theories or something.
> 
> Okay last thing I swear. I have a Tumblr Account where I do art. (Fandom art). So uh... if anyone's interested go check it out. https://lightdas12.tumblr.com/
> 
> *desperately tries to remember if there's anything else* *Nope nothing* *Are you sure Brain?* *Yes* *Didn't we have this same conversation during the exam?* *I dunno, I forgot* *That's exactly what you said then!*
> 
> Oh right! About the book "Love Amongst Dragons". I know there's a whole canon story to it, but I changed it, because it works better with this story. Also, when I reply to your comments, just keep in mind that I'm horribly awkward and my vocabulary consists of a lot of 'uhs'.


	2. Childhood Marred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ozai is an *insert appropriate swear word*.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: If you hadn't guessed already, I do not own the rights to Avatar.

**oOo**

Father decides to take care of Azula’s training personally.

The first thing which she learns under his watchful eye is that ‘Father is always right’. Azula is all too eager to believe that. She has always liked her father more than her mother. Even when little things about her Great Nation niggle deep inside like the Fire Nation’s idea of cowardice makes her raise an eyebrow (going undercover would be a _huge_ tactical advantage and sneaking into a secure fort, surrounded by enemies should not be a sign of cowardice but of bravery), she still doesn’t question anything.

Azula drinks in every detail of her father’s teachings and dedicates herself to harsh training regimes. The bending forms are coming easily to her and the ones that aren’t, she hammers out with endless repetition. _Prodigy_, people whisper around her. She smiles, even though she is sweating and her muscles are aching and wants nothing more but to rest.

Sometimes, it’s a very different word that falls from their lips.

Every day she and father train from the breaking of Agni’s light till the moment it dips below the horizon. But they don’t go to sleep. Instead, they talk under the stars at night.

She tells him of her problems and her life. She loves these moments.

In the moonlight, her father smiles at her. It is an ominous and sinister smile, but Azula doesn’t know that yet. She isn’t _that_ good at reading emotions. Not yet. She grins up at him.

**oOo**

Zuko grows increasingly resentful of her. He avoids her whenever possible and steals her friends away. He hasn’t been paying attention to bending practice either. He sulks and moans. Ty Lee comments that his aura has been dingy and depressed lately.

Mother spends most of her time with Zuzu

When she reveals these things to her father, Ozai gives her advice on what to do.

**oOo**

“Young Lady!”

Ursa sounds angry. It makes sense; Her favorite vase lays shattered on the otherwise pristine palace floor. Azula tunes out the lecture and beams internally. It must show on her face because this makes her mother even madder. Azula doesn’t care. It is the first time her mother has spoken to her in a week. She is paying attention to her.

Father is always right.

**oOo**

Azula mocks her brother and delivers insult after insult. Each jab is designed to hit weak and sensitive spots; spots acquired through a lifetime of trust and living with each other. She doesn’t feel much remorse. This is a game, an exercise by her father. She is determined to be the best at it.

It achieves the desired result.

Dear Zuzu increases his practice tenfold.

After a few days, Azula notices something that turns her smile upside down.

Zuzu is still avoiding her.

**oOo**

Rocks splash on the water, spraying droplets that cause ripples through the lake. They startle the turtleducks and they flinch away. A smirk graces Azula’s lips when her mother’s hands seize her wrists. _We need to have a talk, young lady._ Azula’s eyes glaze over, looking at the dent on the wall. The imperfection makes her want to shudder and stomp. Mother shakes her arm, waking her from her stupor. In a dim part of her mind, she wishes Mother would brush her hair and tell her stories of dragons and princesses again. Like she did when she was younger. Before father’s lessons.

But she’ll take what she can get.

Father says loyalty cannot be won by love or compassion, but by fear. Mai and Ty Lee show promise; Mai will inevitably be a proficient politician and Ty Lee will be a useful asset. Their trust and loyalty are crucial and important. It’s not as if Azula _likes_ them or anything. Their relationship will never be more than a princess and fellow noble, no matter how much they giggle and banter with each other.

She doesn’t realize that she doesn’t need to gain their loyalty. Both Mai and Ty Lee adore her already. She is the solution for the never-ending boredom Mai faces. She is the reason Ty Lee’s sister does not confuse her name anymore.

As the days pass on, her friends become resigned to their games. Protesting is futile; fear becomes a factor in friendship. Azula is a princess, one of Agni’s chosen ones. Who are they to speak up against burning apples and spiteful remarks? It is all ultimately a test in the bigger picture; another way to prove and cement their loyalty to their nation.

She doesn’t realize that with every jab, every spiteful shove, their trust cracks. One day it will inevitably shatter.

Father is always right.

Azula notes that Ty Lee sometimes glances at Zuko, hesitating. But she doesn’t call him. Not anymore. She notes that Mai looks at her with a blank expression not unalike what she normally reserves for courtiers and nobles.

She doesn’t know what to think about that

**oOo**

She is ten when she learns to detach herself from emotions. She isn’t quite as perfect as Mai, but that is not her specialty. Her true weapon is not her ability to hide her shrewd thinking, but her knack for manipulating emotions. She learns about the mind. Eventually, Zuko becomes a book. His pages are written in clear ink and simple words. A _toddler_ could understand him.She takes a twisted thrill in pushing his buttons. It is so easy to get him riled up. He has far too many emotions.

She tries not to remember him coming to her room despite knowing the repercussions. She doesn’t think about him sitting in darkness because he took the blame for something he did not do.

Father says Zuko is weak. Then, he must be weak.

Father is always right.

Whenever Zuko looks at her with hurt shimmering in his eyes, she ignores the churning in her stomach. She stuffs the part of her which still holds affection for him in the dark abyss of her mind. The part of her which squabbled with him over their favorite character. The part which complained alongside him about the Ember Island Players.

That part will probably not like being in the abyss. She knows how much Zuko hates the dark.

She buries the flame of affection inside her heart with her emotions. Sentimentality is a weakness.

But she can’t snuff it out… not yet.

The flame was once warm and comforting. But now, it burns her as she delivers blow after blow; She watches him flinch as she says something hurtful and dimly thinks that this would be a lot easier if he could hide what he was feeling.

But he couldn’t. So, she would find more openings. And he would flinch at her jabs. His openness would make the flame inside burn brighter. The cycle would repeat all over again.

The palace staff calls her things behind her back. They say that Agni’s chosen one has a crazed look in her eyes and a cruel streak in her blood. The ones who have known her since birth look at her with pity, while others with anger and partial disbelief. As if a nine-year-old child should not provoke such emotions of hatred.

Azula’s eyes flash with a crazed streak. She is _not _to be pitied. And how dare they insult her? The _chosen_ princess (and most probably crown-princess because it is no secret that Ozai is not fond of his son.)

A maidservant in the palace has a burn mark on her left wrist. The maidservant shivers when someone says ‘monster’. 

**oOo**

Eventually, paranoia engulfs her mind. She hears her mother’s words. _What is wrong with that child? _She hears her friends’ hushed whispers as they huddle together. Gossip bounces through the palace walls. She hears the palace guards and the royal maids.

She wonders if she is supposed to hear it. Are the whispers carefully calculated in volume so as to make sure she hears them? Are they intentional? Does it matter if they are? Her paranoia grows worse. She worries that people will mock and tease her like she teases Zuko. She starts becoming afraid of the games.

She is still perfect at them though.

When she hears her mother say the dreaded word _monster_, it is as if a bucket of ice-cold water has been dropped on her heart. She feels emptiness… but also relief.

Relief that she knows what her mother really thinks of her. Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway. Father says that she is better off without Mother’s influence. Father says that Zuko is weak.

Father is always right.

But he also says that she is perfect.

She thinks of the flame of affection which still burns inside her heart. Instinctively she knows that Father will disapprove of the flame. Even if Father has never disapproved of her flames before, she knows that he will hate these ones. Flames that burn the bender are a sign of disgrace.

Her thoughts are troubled and make her sleep restless. She thinks of her fear that someone will beat her at her own game.

But Father says that she is perfect.

…

Father _must_ always be right.

**oOo**

She knows that she will do anything to please her father. _Anything_.

She takes a twisted joy in doing them too. Even if the flames burn her, her father’s twitches of smiles and his hand patting her head is a soothing salve. It is the salve that makes her enjoy her games (Even though she’s afraid and oh so afraid of them)

**oOo**

She doesn’t fail to notice that Zuko has never called her a monster before.

She almost wishes he would. Maybe then the flames would burn out and stop hurting her. Then she’d only be left with scars. Scars only throb a little. She knows this because of Mother

Although one of her wishes were granted. He doesn’t flinch from her insults anymore. He loses his temper, he stomps, he huffs, he slams the door. He’s so childish that she almost smiles. This was the Zuko from before.<strike></strike>

But he doesn’t contradict her anymore. Not like he used to. He just… resigns himself and releases his frustration elsewhere. It’s like he expects her taunting. Like he has gotten used to it. Like he’s gotten used to _her_.

The flames burn a little brighter.

But her face betrays nothing of her flames. They are still a secret from the world. Her tone is perfect, laced with superiority.She has an amused smile on her lips.

**oOo**

Mother doesn’t take them to see the play this year.

She wonders why this upsets her so much. She never liked that play anyway.

**oOo**

During grandfather’s meetings, Azula has always been mesmerized by the flames surrounding the royal throne. But they aren’t high enough to protect Azulon’s back. If she is ever Firelord (the likelihood is looking higher and higher) _her_ back will always be protected.

When grandfather asks a question, Zuko sputters. Pathetic. She _could _leave him trying to guess the answer (and getting a punishment from grandfather), but she covers for him. She wonders why. Part of her wants to show her brilliance. The other part of her wants to protect Zuko from everything. (Everything except herself)

She knows he doesn’t appreciate her help. She knows he perceives it as an insult to his capability. Indeed, this is proven true when he stands up after she finishes her kata. She wonders why she covered for him. She gains nothing from it.

But she does notice that the flames in her heart shimmer down when she does something like it. Something mother would approve of. She might even call the action kind. If she ever noticed it.

Zuzu trips. Mother rushes to help him. Azula hides her glare. Mother hadn’t even batted an eyelash when _she_ was performing.

**oOo**

Father says that she is perfect.

_Yes_, she thinks, _I_ am _perfect._

Perfect except for the scars she inflicted on herself with every jab at her mother. Those scars just throb slightly though. She is perfect except for the flame that _still_ exists in her heart. Perfect except for the paranoia that grips her every night. Perfect except for the nightmares— they jeer at her, telling her that she will be beaten at her own game. Perfect except for the fear that Mai, Ty Lee, and Father will call her a monster and abandon her.

It is absurd. She knows this. Absurd and irrational. And Azula is nothing if not a rational person.

But nightmares don’t listen to logic. Rationality is a small comfort when Mai’s knives are buried deep inside her, as she lies helpless on the ground (courtesy of Ty Lee). Or when Zuko turns away from her, leaving her burning on a pyre. Or alternatively, she leaves _him_ burning and screaming, as she stands triumphant next to father as an emotion (she strongly suspects that it is guilt) eats away her insides.

“You are perfect,” her father says warmly. A sharp, unsettling feeling crawls inside her.

Father is not always right, she thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N
> 
> Hello!! Oh man the response to the first chapter was absolutely amazing. I'm just... stunned. I wanted to have this chapter out a while ago but you know... life happens. I was slightly sick. School started. Blah blah blah excuses, excuses. But hey! One good thing came out of the onion banana smoothie that is my life: I got a beta reader!
> 
> A trillion million thanks to the amazing Shelty Lacquer for betaing (is that a verb?) this chapter.
> 
> If you want to talk about anything, leave (constructive) criticism or just chat please don't feel shy :D
> 
> Aaand lastly I have a tumblr account where I make art, if anyone wants to check it out.


	3. Childhood Destroyed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I will not be doing any more disclaimers anymore.

He clings to his pillows and curls up on his bed. He wishes he had his stuffed toys to comfort him in the darkness of the night but father made him burn those years ago. He wishes Mother would come back and hold him. Azula is horrible, he thinks. Horrible and cruel and Father would _never_ do that.

_Father will kill you. Really, he will._

She had smiled when she said it. For the first time, Zuko starts to believe the rumors in the palace about the princess being the incarnation of evil.

_Azula always lies. Azula always lies_.

Father would _never_ do that. Azula is sick. Father would never lay a hand on him. He would never kill him. He would never leave him. He would never abandon him. He will _not_ be adopted by an Earth Kingdom family. Father _loves_ him.

(But he still doesn’t take his lessons personally. No matter how hard he works, no matter how much he improves, he won’t teach him. He’ll always be a failure. He’ll always be behind Azula.)

But that’s only to make him work harder, he assures himself. It’s for his own good. Besides, Azula always lies.

_Azula always lies. Azula always lies._

**oOo**

The next day, pure panic grips his heart when he can’t find her mother. He yells at the guards, he orders the maidservants to tell him where Princess Ursa is. Every time, he gets the same answer.

He even dares to speak up to his father. _Where is she?_

He doesn’t get an answer.

_Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to protect you._

(Father wouldn’t kill him. Father _loved_ him.)

Firelord Azulon was dead. He had been a picture of health. He was dead now though. And his father was the Firelord (And he has heard, he has _heard_ Azulon say that he won’t betray Iroh) Even if he isn’t a genius like Azula, he isn’t stupid. He knows how to connect the dots.

When the Fire Nation kneels for the Firelord, they are in white mourning robes.

(This should be an act of disrespect for the dead. Traditionally, Fire princes are given three days to grieve before being handed the responsibility of Firelord.)

Zuko’s head clashes with these thoughts and he falls asleep. The servants discover that their twelve-year-old prince’s pillows are damp. His sheets are crumpled and ruffled.

They also notice that the ten-year-old princess’ beds are perfect as usual.

**oOo**

Once his thoughts are cleared (they’re not cleared, not really. They’re just stuffed into the back of his mind where he hopes to forget them), he notices that Azula doesn’t even seem fazed by this development.

This doesn’t faze her. Not like it fazes him. Her flames do not come out in weak, pathetic poofs. She doesn’t have red-rimmed eyes when something reminds them of _her_. There is not a strand of hair out of place (Not like him. He spends hours on his topknot with shaking hands because tying his hair was something _she_ used to do)

He wonders if she has the same nightmares at him.

Probably not, he thinks.

The fact makes his heart twist up in rage.

**oOo**

Uncle comes back.

Zuko thinks that Uncle must be very sad about his son. But father says that Uncle is fat and old and lazy. Their voices clash inside his mind; Uncle’s soft melodies and Lu Ten’s mischievous smirk when they did something dangerous (which Ursa would _definitely_ not approve of) and father’s twitching smile that one time he mastered a kata faster than his sister.

In the end, it doesn’t really matter. His father’s word is law, and he will believe him.

(He doesn’t realize the similarities between him and his sister)

**oOo**

“Do you even _feel_ anything?” He says, each word spits out like something unpleasant in his mouth, as he sees her playing with a doll and promptly burning it to a crisp.

The doll was a gift from Mother on her birthday. And she burnt it. She burnt it with not a flicker of emotion. She doesn’t know how much he’d love to have that doll with him.

Azula regards the ashes in her palms and raises an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean brother?”

Zuko clenched his fists and steam practically radiated off of them. She knows _exactly_ what it is supposed to mean. But he humors her anyway because trying to outwit Azula is always a bad idea.

“That doll was gifted to you by Mother”, he says even though he knows that she knows it.

His sister glances around as if to check something. Then, to his surprise, she lets out a harsh and bitter laugh. He is startled by the slightly crazed look in her eyes. Usually, she is so calm and poised, but as she lets the ashes in her palms fall to the ground, she says.

“Yes, it was such a _thoughtful_ gift wasn’t it brother? Maybe she and Uncle should take lessons in the art of gift-giving and tea”

Then she storms off and he stares at her back, confused at her response. It was a carefully phrased sentence (not like the distorted sentences which ten-year-olds speak but Zuko doesn’t know that) but her words were not as carefully thought out. And the emotion in her voice is something Zuko hasn’t seen in a long time.

He is reminded of when she came to his room, terrified of the lightning roaring outside. Except this time, she isn’t afraid.

He doesn’t even know what she feels. He doesn’t know what to think anymore.

**oOo**

He sits on the edge of the pond, bitter memories resurfacing like the loaves of bread he throws to his beloved animals. They cause ripples of anger and grief, but they can’t spread out and disappear forever. He wants to go as physically far away from the place as he can.

(He wonders if Azula burnt the dolls because she didn’t want another reminder of her mother. Just another reminder that she is gone and she won’t come back.)

For the first time, his mother’s voice doesn’t comfort him anymore. It mocks and jeers at him. Her perfume isn’t soothing anymore. Instead, it fills him up with a sense of emptiness and grief. He feels torn between either burning all his mother’s possessions to the ground or saving them like they are precious treasure.

He resents being near the pond.

But the turtle-ducks don’t deserve that. They’ve done nothing wrong. So, he swallows down the bile rising in his mouth and stays.

Even when the pond teases him with once-happy memories turned bitter, he stays. The turtle-ducks nibble on his fingers. The mother (his foot still hurts where she bit him but he doesn’t blame her. He deserved it) is wary at first, but she comes around. Still, he notices, she shields her child under her feathers as he paddles behind her.

He wonders if he can make the place feel happy again. As an idea develops in his head, he lets himself smile.

His father could feed the turtle-ducks with him!

He enters the Firelord’s chambers with a grin on his face, he hasn’t worn since he Ursa disappeared. (When he’s an adult, he won’t blame himself. He was young and idealistic)

He returns with a burn mark on his wrist, his head cast low and more depressed than he had been before.

He wonders if Father would have gone with Azula to the pond.

Probably, he thinks. Azula had always been lucky. Then again, she would much sooner kick the turtle-ducks than feed them_. Lowly, weak creatures, dependent on others for basic survival_, she said.

**oOo**

There is no one to hold him as he cries himself to sleep that night.

When Ursa leaves, Azula feels regret. But also, relief.

She knows Mother probably made a deal with Father to save Zuko. (She wonders if Mother would have made the deal for _her_), and that her grandfather’s death probably has something to do with that. She knows her father doesn’t make idle threats. She knows that mother probably knows that too. He says that those who make idle threats are too weak to carry them out.

Zuko is probably the only one who doesn’t know that. But then again, he probably doesn’t even believe that father truly said that he would kill him.

She tries not to think of the panic she had felt when Father said that he would kill her brother. She never wants to experience that battle in her mind ever again. Still, she had decided that her loyalty rested with her father and if he wants to kill Zuko, she would support him. She would smile at whatever he does.

She wonders how it would have been like if her father and her brother had the same goals.

But she knows it doesn’t matter anyway. Her father admires brutality. (Personally, she admires perfection, and thinks that failure isn’t worth brutality. But Zuko lacks that aggression. When he sees someone in danger, his first instinct is to protect.

If Zuko was more aggressive, then she is sure that Father wouldn’t mind his failure. Even though he would disapprove of it, Zuko would still be a weapon in Ozai’s army.

She feels regret for her mother. But she will do whatever Father asks her to eagerly and passionately. Her loyalty belongs to him only.

When Mother disappears, the emotions on her face never waver.

**oOo**

He wants to call her a monster. She knows this. She can see it in his eyes, burning with anger and grief. He had always been easy to read. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say it. He yells at her and shouts at her, but he doesn’t say the dreaded word.

As if he wants to spare her feelings. This fact frustrates Azula to no end. (She has never spared _his_ feelings, she doesn’t deserve this)

The flames inside just keeps on burning. And he keeps providing the fuel.

**oOo**

Now that Father is Firelord, they don’t practice from dawn till dusk anymore.

Azula does not know what to do with her newfound time. So she roams around the palace. She thinks she hears sobs from Zuko’s chambers. She has an urge to go inside and wrap her arms around him (like he did years ago during that lightning storm.) The guards outside look distinctly uncomfortable; she thinks that they have the same urge.

All of them resist the urge.

**oOo**

When Ty Lee runs away to the circus, Azula is hit with a dull pang. She thinks it is loneliness but it might be anger or indignation. She has spent so much time denying her nightmares, telling herself that they are irrational and nonsensical, she forgets to make a variable in the event that they _do_ happen.

Her father is pleased when her fire turns blue. Temporarily.

**oOo**

Mai’s father has been stationed elsewhere. Mai is leaving alongside him. Azula can’t tell what Mai feels as they say a stiff goodbye. (Azula had never been able to figure out Mai when she used the blank face she used on nobles and courtiers). Her tone is flat and monotonous as ever. She maintains steady eye contact like she isn’t guilty of anything. (But Azula’s nightmares tell her differently and she doesn’t know how to differentiate anymore.)

Before Mai boards the ship, she hesitates and glances back at her.

“I’ll miss you,'' she says, “It will be _so_ boring without you” and Azula almost breaks down right then. Mai will miss her. Mai regrets leaving. Mai regrets leaving _her_. The thought makes her giddy with happiness.

**oOo**

Then, it occurs to her that her father could have prevented Mai from leaving. He was the Firelord, he could have assign someone else to govern that stupid island. He could…

A chill runs down her spine. It’s _her_ fault. Father sent her away _intentionally._

Her fire turns a permanent blue. Father is pleased.

She is happy that he is pleased. Even if Mai had to leave, her love for her father doesn’t disappear. (Even if it wavers slightly)

**oOo**

Azula progresses faster in her firebending training than any other Fire Nation child. Her mind easily remembers every fact in history books ever to be recorded. Her calligraphy is beautiful and not like the scribbles of most ten-year-old kids. Not even Firelord Sozin had been this brilliant.

Sometimes, Father oversees her training and murmurs to himself something about lightning and cold-blooded fire.

One day, he calls her at night. It is a moonless night, but she doesn’t mind that. She has never been afraid of the dark. Lighting a fire in her palms, she watches in wonder as the dark garden flickers to life. Even after all this time, the little heartbeat in her palms still fascinates her.

“Princess Azula, is something the matter?” Ozai asks. His voice was unnaturally gentle. It set off warning bells, but Azula answered honestly anyway.

“Mai and Ty Lee left,'' she says in a flat tone that does not give away her emotions. Even if the flat tone tells Ozai more than any emotion could. He spreads out his arms which causes Azula to raise an eyebrow. She doesn’t move. Ozai drops his hands.

“Don’t worry”, he caresses her cheek and his gentle touch is welcome. “They were too weak for you anyway, you don’t need friends.”

The words are cruel, perhaps unknowingly so. Azula remembers her paranoia at night. How she wished her friends were there to comfort her instead of being the object of her nightmares. Azula leans into the comforting voice anyway.

Ozai spreads his arms once again. This time, she sinks into his lap.

Tears threaten to spill from her eyes. But she doesn’t cry, she won’t cry. She doesn’t know the repercussions yet.

Her father holds her through the night. But she doesn’t cry. Not a single tear falls out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand I can now finally start the damned story.
> 
> Reviews make a writer's life, I have a tumblr (not that I ever use it) with username "LightDas12" and blog name "give meaning to the void that is my life and blah blah blah the usual stuff.
> 
> Okay, now that I've got all of that out of the way, I would like you guys to know that the next update might take a little while (like around two weeks probably). I need to get the little things figured out since we're gonna go off canon.
> 
> Also, last thing, there's something really weird going on with my Author;s notes. Like... two notes are appearing at the same time. I dunno what is up with that


	4. Iroh's Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Iroh (almost) commits fratricide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back from the dead?  
I'll spare you my excuses. They mostly consist of new fandoms and broken laptops (and broken promises)

Iroh inhales the salty scent of the Fire Nation, the scent of his home as he descends down the plank of the metal ship. It is warm and sunny here, if slightly humid, almost cozy compared to the biting winds of the North Pole and the chill feeling of ice.

As the crowd cheer for their lost prince, Iroh wonders how they would act if they knew that their prince had _not_ spent the past year meditating on top of volcanoes, but spent it with the barbaric water tribes, hunting food and playing Pai Sho.

He doubts their reaction would be good.

**oOo**

When Iroh returns, the palace walls are engraved with a strange sorrow, a moroseness which hadn’t existed before when the servants gossiped with each other about their families with crinkling eyes. When Lu Ten’s laughter echoed in the halls and Princess Ursa’s kind smile would make the sternest men smile. When Zuko would trot around dramatically re-enacting plays and Azula would pester her Uncle to get the exotic _chocolate_ from the ancient ruins of the Sun warriors.

No, the palace is gloomy and Iroh feels the weight of his old ancestors looking down at him through paintings; berating him for his mistakes and his treacherous thoughts. Their sins are heavy and unforgivable. Perhaps his sins are as well. But it has taken him so long to realize it.

Prince Zuko does not come and hug him like he usually does. He walks and bows with half dead eyes (the other half glints with a reckless determination he has seen so often in Lu Ten). Princess Azula doesn’t whine for chocolate; she takes a look at him, sniffs in contempt and turns away, putting most high-born noble women Iroh has met to shame.

She is different. Azula had always exhibited an eerie similarity to Ozai in terms of personality but had never been quite so open about it. But she, like a child who has nobody to reprimand her anymore, scoffs at him and shoots him down at every opportunity without regard for repercussions. Whispers of his failure at Ba Sing Se reached his ears.

That hurt.

He wouldn’t deny it. He _had_ failed at Ba Sing Se.

Lu Ten’s corpse burned in his mind.

How did the comfortable palace become a place of manipulation and clever tricks in the two years he spent sieging Ba Sing Se? Iroh wants _words_ with his brothers. _Words_ such as fratricide.

**oOo**

They argue every _single_ day.

The pattern of their arguments is often similar. It often starts with Azula breathing. His nephew throws a scowl at her and she reciprocates with an amused smile. They squabble, as children often do, about small things which escalate to bigger things which escalates to a full-blown wrestling match complete with insults and injury (although Iroh realizes very soon that his nephew is terrible at them. He does not understand how Zuko could think ‘stupid blue girl’ was a valid insult when he was living with _Azula_.) The situation would be adorable if not for the angry tears in his nephew’s eyes, the dark, cruel glare of his niece and the burning curtains around them.

Sometimes, Azula starts the fight by tackling him to the ground and pinning him under her.

Other times, Zuko starts the fight by aiming a half-hearted fireball over her shoulder. Not that she needs the consideration.

Ozai makes things worse. Enough is said. Iroh contemplates fratricide.

**oOo**

The Dragon of the West has defeated many enemies during his lifetime (many he is not proud of). He has razed cities and towns to the ground and almost killed the last dragons in existence. His might is nothing to scoff at; those opposite to him on the battlefield shiver in apprehension and those under his command regard him with admiration and respect.

Who knew his undoing would be two stubborn children?

It does not matter how many proverbs Iroh spits out (Azula looks amused and Zuko looks confused) or how angry he gets at them (Zuko would call him old and fat and Azula would sneer at him) or how many disapproving glares he sends their way (Zuko would be resigned and Azula would smirk) or how many lectures he gives (Both would roll their eyes). They wouldn’t stop fighting.

The kangaroo-rabbit stomps on its mother’s feet when she stops it from going into a den. In a dim portion of his mind, Iroh thinks that Lu Ten had never been this difficult. The sweet yet bitter taste of ginseng lingers in his mouth; Lu Ten’s favourite.

But then again, Zuko and Azula were _not_ Lu Ten. Even if Lu Ten had had his niece’s brilliance and his nephew’s compassion. Even if Azula’s nose looked exactly like Lu Ten’s and when Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose it reminded him so much of Lu Ten that it was physically painful. Iroh had reminded himself of that more times than he’d like to admit in the past days. Grief was painful and messy and sometimes, he wished he could mourn his son properly.

“Do you even _feel_ anything?” a raspy voice snaps him out of his stupor and he listens in, curious. The faint sound of sizzling is heard; Iroh guesses it is Azula.

“What is that supposed to mean, brother?”

Zuko stomps. “That doll was gifted to you by mother.”

The familiar and unmistakable smell of something burning makes its way to Iroh’s nose.

A short silence. Iroh’s eyes widen when his niece barks in bitter laughter. “Yes, it was such a _thoughtful_ gift wasn’t it brother? Maybe she and Uncle should take lessons in the art of gift-giving and tea.”

Immediately, the retired general feels regret as he remembers his siege of Ba Sing Se. He had given Zuko a pearl dagger, inscribed with the statement ‘Never give up without a fight’ ironically taken from an Earth Kingdom general who had surrendered his city. (Then again, Iroh had also given up without much of a fight. He wondered how many people would disagree with him on that). It was a thoughtful gift for a boy who had been a late bloomer in a family of prodigies.

Compared to that, Azula’s gift had almost been an afterthought.

Iroh felt like how he had felt when he realized that Fire Nation propaganda was nothing but lies and arrogance. There were always two sides to a story. Iroh learnt the hard way.

The weight of Ursa’s disappearance lies heavy on him at this moment. The two children were unable to grieve, just like him.

Lu Ten had never experienced this kind of loss. A loss which you were unable to grieve for. The blurred lines that separate his niece and nephew from his son sharpen.

He never mistakenly calls Zuko ‘Lu Ten’ ever again.

There will be time to grieve. Eventually, when men don’t send their children away from their homes to fight foolish wars, and wives and mothers do not stare blankly out their windows waiting for people who lie, unmoving, in ravaged battlefields. There will be time to grieve for all of them.

**oOo**

“Princess Azula, would you like a game of Pai Sho?”

Azula eyes him with narrowed eyes, then her lips curve to form a smirk. The candles in her lavish room blaze higher. “What? Are you going to give me another lecture on _the bonds of family?_”

Iroh’s eyes crinkle in a way her father’s never did and he smiles widely at her as her own smile slips away. An unbidden emotion stabs her; She scoffs at herself when she realizes it is jealousy. _Jealousy_. An emotion worse than sadness and compassion. She is Agni’s chosen one and wielder of Blue Fire. She has no reason to be jealous!

And yet she’s jealous of her dead cousin. What she wouldn’t do to have her father smile so widely, so openly at her.

“No, Princess Azula. I merely wish to have a game with you.”

Did he really? Her eyes gleam with a predatory light, her features carved into a smugness she will later chastise herself for. “Old man, I’ve beaten masters at this game,” then as an afterthought, she shrugs casually. “You’re going to lose.”

Uncle tilts his head, as if amused. “Princess Azula. Often, failure is the ladder to success.”

The Princess disagrees wholeheartedly. Failure is not—has never been an option. Not for her. She is the golden child and perfection is the only answer. Mistakes and failures are for people like _Zuko_. She _will_ not fail. And besides…

“I beat father at this game. What are _you_ going to do?”

To her eternal annoyance, he simply beams and says “I will go and make us both a pot of tea!” His royal tea loving kookiness is dumber than she realized. He shall be beaten soon, and she shall rejoice in the ashes of his humiliation and defeat!

**oOo**

Iroh glances at his niece as she bites her lip and takes another sip of his jasmine tea. It is delicious (though not as good as ginseng. Never as good as ginseng). The dragon of the west _smirks_ at her knowingly. Smoke practically comes out of her ears as she studies the board.

Then she looks at him with an unreadable expression and furrowed eyebrows. “You win.”

He hasn’t, not yet. But in around ten moves he is practically guaranteed to win. Iroh is impressed at the girl’s brilliance - she plays better than most of his generals. There are a few major flaws in her strategy though.

**oOo**

She was supposed to be rejoicing in Uncle’s ashes and humiliation! But Agni, she thinks, Uncle is a psychic. He predicts her every move and counters it with another brilliant (and sometimes unthinkable) one. She bites her lip in frustration and attempts to make out _some_ sort of feasible strategy to get her out of this mess. But none appears. Finally, she lets out a defeated sigh. “You win.”

She knows the advantage of a tactical retreat unlike her dear brother. She looks at him, wondering dimly of the repercussions of losing. She has never lost before.

_Never_.

She resists the urge to scream and yell. She is supposed to be perfect. She isn’t supposed to lose like this. Losing is something reserved for Zuko. _He_ is the failure. She... Had she underestimated Uncle? Where had she miscalculated? What had she done wrong? What…

She is startled out of her thoughts by a strange and foreign sound; applause. It surprises her so that she stares at Iroh uncomprehendingly as he says, “That was a well-played game, niece. Not even the generals with me could last this long against me.”

A warm fuzzy feeling wraps itself around her and the thrill of being validated makes her smile a genuine smile. Father… She had to work with father for _his_ compliments. He would never give her one for losing.

She remembers the feeling of craving her mother’s unconditional love. The unconditional love which _Zuko_ always got, but never her.

But his royal tea-loving kookiness whom she had wanted to die not less than two weeks ago handed it out like it were sweets.

She is resentful of being less than perfect; it is an itch she cannot scratch. She is frustrated with herself for losing to a tea loving failure who hadn’t had the guts to avenge her cousin. But…

She doesn’t really know what comes after the ‘but’.

**oOo**

Iroh sits on the edge of the stairs, sipping jasmine tea as he watches his nephew practicing his forms in the courtyard. He has certainly improved from the clumsy, awkward boy he had been when Iroh last saw him, although he hardly holds a candle to his sister’s graceful katas.

He tries to do a complicated series of moves; a set which Iroh knows is much more advanced than Zuko’s age as certainly as he knows that his niece has already mastered it. The wet grass of monsoon makes the prince lose his balance and he falls unceremoniously on the ground. In a brief second, he is up again and doing the set with renewed vigor and determination.

Iroh remembers witnessing a similar scene, when he was young and naïve and his nine-year old brother didn’t lust after power. When he playfully ruffled his young brother’s hair and teased him about his crush on the lovely Lady Ursa. Much like Azula, Zuko has an eerie similarity to Ozai in many ways. And yet…

“Sorry, I’m _so_ sorry. I promise, I didn’t mean it. You just got in the way and I couldn’t help it,” the Prince of the Fire Nation is talking to an injured bird in his cupped hands. One of the bird’s wings is half charred and it flutters weakly in his palms.

Zuko’s eyes soften and he cradles the creature in his arms. “I’m sorry… fire is dangerous and deadly. I know. I’m trying to master control, but I’m not there yet.” His eyes then shine with determination and he dramatically puts a fist to his heart. “But when I’m a master, I won’t burn any of my friends. I’ll protect everyone! Did you know that Sozin could burn the clothes of a person without burning their skin? He was a great firebender. Even better than the Avatar himself!”

The bird relaxes in his arms as the prince recites it stories from his scrolls. It is at these times that Iroh thinks he bears an unmistakable similarity to Ursa as well. The bird closes its eyes peacefully and takes its final breath in his arms.

Iroh thinks that Ozai never learnt about the little things in life; the subtle moments. The lessons of control and compassion. For even if they may be alike in some ways, in that they will always differ.

Despite the somber moment, it _is_ funny to see his nephew performing the same royal burial rites for the bird as had been seen on Azulon’s funeral; complete with burning ashes and sprinkling holy water. He pats Zuko’s shoulders and the Zuko looks back at him with a solemn face and nods dramatically.

“May the Firelor— I mean the bird find its way to Agni’s haven.”

**oOo**

One day, Iroh decides to come to his nephew’s lessons with his tutors. Zuko’s eyes widen when he hears of the news, and he looks away and refuses to meet his eyes.

Iroh soon realizes why.

The tutors Ozai has chosen are straight-faced, burly men lusting for approval and only care for getting on the good side of royalty. They’re all fake smiles and flattering words and as soon as Iroh enters, they shower him with stories of their brave exploits against the savage Earth kingdoms, their sons who are great soldiers and admirals and the situations of their respective homelands. As Iroh calmly listens to these tales, he notices that Zuko is practicing in the courtyard. Alone.

Zuko doesn’t seem surprised. From this, Iroh judges that he is used to this.

He gives the men a polite smile and leaves.

Walking up to his nephew, he says “Prince Zuko, do that kata again.”

He does so and it’s clumsy but most nine-year olds usually have the grace of a Komodo-rhino. His niece is an unusual exception.

He fixes Zuko’s footwork.

“Prince Zuko, I want to teach you a move.” He beams “A move no one knows. It’s because I made up the move myself!”

**oOo**

It was a bad idea.

“I challenge you to a duel!” Zuko says to his masters, like the idiot he is. Iroh facepalms.

The men, Iroh realizes, distastefully curling his lips have never been in any actual combat; their moves are generic, rusty katas and their fire is all over the place, uncontrolled. They hardly compare to the graceful movements of Azula that Zuko is used to.

His brother couldn’t even bother to get a decent master for his oldest son.

Zuko falls to the ground, beneath the mocking glares of his instructors. But he gets back up. He’s used to being the disgraced, forgotten, Agni-abandoned prince. But he _will_ become a Firelord everyone loves one day.

He grins from ear to ear when he beats his so-called teacher using Iroh’s fire breathing.

And thus, begins his lessons with Iroh.

**oOo**

“That was brilliant, Prince Zuko.”

He turns with the most heartbreakingly baffled expression, as if he isn’t used to the idea of praise or compliments. Then, as he registers the words, his face lights up in a huge smile which used to be so common before Ursa left. On a completely unrelated note, all the candles in a ten-mile radius blaze higher.

“Really?” The raspy, boyish voice is insecure and unsure. Iroh has already killed his brother twenty-seven times this week.

“Yes,” he assures him “However, you should squat down a little. Your stance must be like an unrelenting kangaroo-rabbit. Not like its baby.” Iroh guffaws in laughter.

Unfortunately, Zuko does not share his sense of humor. He stares back at him with the expression of someone who is trying to figure out something incomprehensible. Iroh shakes his head, “Do it again.”

Truly, his nephew has a lot to learn in the art of making jokes. It doesn’t run in the family.

**oOo**

Zuko’s eyes burn with an unrelenting fire as he follows Uncle’s instructions to the letter. He looks at Iroh with a mixture of anxiety and worry when it’s done and his stomach plummets when Iroh frowns.

… He is worthless, just like father said he was, and now Uncle will leave him just like all the other tutors did but it doesn’t really matter, he’s been doing _just fine_ alone, he doesn’t need Uncle’s help or anybody’s help and–

“Prince Zuko, your firebending does not come from the muscles, but from the breath.”

“The breath?”

His eyes flash with a brief, incomplete memory of someone telling him the exact same words. It sounds like his sister; But it’s probably his mother. Azula would _never_ try to help him with bending.

He does the set once again. His breathing is steady, but still uneven. Iroh scowls harder and Zuko thinks that the expression does not suit his jovial Uncle.

He marvels at how easy it is to forget that Uncle almost burned a city to the ground.

“Did your masters not teach you the breathing exercises? I believe every child masters them at five, do they not?”

Azula mastered it at four years old. He remembers being _happy_ about it. Now he can’t comprehend why. Why would he be happy about Azula mastering something when he couldn’t even bend a spark?

“I produced my first spark at seven. Father made my teachers skipp a lot of basics to catch up to Azula,” he then adds as if he _hasn’t_ made Iroh wish for his brother’s death. Again.

Just then, Uncle pulls him close and wraps his arms around him. He is warm and smells of ginseng and his grip is slightly too strong and Zuko wonders what they’re doing. He squirms slightly before stopping. He briefly wonders if this is this what they call a hug.

If it is, then it feels nice.

**oOo**

The royal family has never been familiar with touching one another. Nor has it ever believed in positive reinforcements or kind words without strings attached or genuine, openly worded compliments without a hint of subtlety.

Iroh thinks of the Northern water tribes and how overtly familiar with affection they are. It had been comforting, (if slightly terrifying) over there, with their open displays of love; A stark contrast to the royal palace.

Then again, their rules and restrictions upon women had been backwards.

Perhaps every nation could learn something from the other.

Their hug is awkward, and slightly uncomfortable. Zuko squirms slightly below him before settling down. Iroh thinks that his grip might be too strong. He still isn’t used to this.

But it feels nice. Maybe they _could_ get used to it.

**oOo**

“Well, Prince Zuko, I shall be your master now. Let us start with the basics.”

Much to Zuko’s horror, they do nothing for the next hour but breathing exercises and burning leaves. Iroh bears the frustrated remarks, protests and grumbling with the patience of a man who has had and raised a hyperactive child before.

Although, miraculously, the protests stop when Zuko realizes that his flames blaze higher than they ever did. His fire is brighter, warmer and stronger and cuts through the air like a knife through thin paper.

(Sure, father said that Uncle was a failure and old and fat… but Zuko was getting better at bending. So… surely... it couldn’t hurt…?)

**oOo**

A week has passed since she has started playing with Uncle Iroh. Azula indulges him and his silly games because she has nothing else to do. It certainly does not have anything to do with the ball of frustration inside her, which is gnawing her, chip by chip.

The taste of failure tastes bitter and it wears her down. Is this how Zuko feels all the time?

“Princess Azula”, Uncle says in his infuriatingly soft voice. Azula grips her hair in her fists and lets out a loud groan. A few strands fall out of place, but Uncle does not care about that. Uncle doesn’t care about the weak displays of frustration or the imperfections either. They would have certainly angered Ozai.

“You and your Agni-damned white lotus,” she mutters angrily and doesn’t think about how _good_ it feels to vent out her anger instead of letting it fester inside her, raw and ugly just _waiting_ to plague her in her dreams.

“Perhaps you would like to change your strategy?”

“My strategy is the most unpredictable strategy that I am aware of,'' she snips. She doesn’t add _other than yours_, because Uncle dodged when he should attack. Uncle defended when he should destroy his attackers. Uncle turned _her_ attacks against her by traps and tricks. And then he used that Agni cursed white lotus to pull out a victory. She was almost-pretty sure that it was against the rules.

“Perhaps you should consider not sacrificing your weakest tiles so early in the game?”

“They’re a weakness. A liability”, she scoffs, repeating the words Ozai had told her so long ago. Words she had drunk up without question, as if they were an ambrosia. But now she thought that her father was hardly anyone to deal advice on how to play Pai Sho. She had beaten the man at ten-years old (and she would never forget that furious face. They had never played Pai Sho after that)

Somehow, she thinks that Iroh will not have the same reaction if he loses.

Subconsciously, she leans in closer to better hear his advice.

She comes a lot closer to victory the next time they play.

The taste of failure is bitter. It makes her yearn for the sweet honeyed taste of victory even more.

**oOo**

Zuko stares up at Uncle with an unreadable look on his eyes. Iroh’s hand is stretched out and Zuko lies on the grassy floor, knocked out once again, courtesy of their daily spars.

Then, before Iroh can say anything, he pushes himself on one hand and performs an overcomplicated spin. It knocks Iroh’s helping hand. The movement is so jarring that Iroh is for once caught off guard and falls back.

“Oww,” he says, “My tailbone.”

Zuko’s face turns sheepish and he turns away, scratching his neck. “I made up the move myself. So, if I ever fall down, I can always get up again.”

Iroh smiles the wide, proud smile of a father whose son has recently started to walk. It was a smile Zuko’s own father never gave him and he feels all warm and fuzzy inside.

**oOo**

The first time Zuko uses the technique, it’s against Azula.

His sister is caught off guard, and the technique knocks her down. The Princess stares uncomprehendingly at her brother, before realizing that she has lost. She has _lost_. To her brother.

An emotion festers inside, and her face twists into an ugly, maniacal grin as she gets up, wielding blue fire in both her palms. She cannot lose to her _brother._ She is better than him.

She will _not _become the unfavorite of the two of them.

Dimly she realizes that Zuko is screaming (like in her nightmares) and she thinks that she will not feel regret searing his arm.

**oOo**

Azula does _not_ regret it.

She does not regret when Iroh brings a scurrying nurse to the courtyard to gently carry the boy to the infirmary; she does not regret when Iroh looks at her with something akin to disappointment; she does not regret it when the palace staff looks the other way, with trembling arms.

Their spars had never gone that far before. The worst that would happen were minor burns, painful, but easily fixed. They had always kept their flames cool, mother had taught them that fire could be dangerous.

“Princess Azula,” Iroh says.

“He lost. I’m better than him.” That is the only thing that matters.

“Niece.”

Faintly, a memory of her first sparks come to her mind. Although they are unreal (Zuko would _never_ be proud of her bending) it still hurts.

… She regrets it.

**oOo**

“Here,” Azula thrusts a fire lily at him; mother’s favorite flowers.

Zuko will _never_ understand his sister. Or girls in general, really.

“Why would you bring me this?” he says, harsher than he had intended.

“I don’t know!” She snaps. But she doesn’t leave the infirmary. He takes the fire lily.

They descend into an awkward silence, each looking the other way. The infirmary walls are rather dull though; there isn’t much interesting to look at. Just shelves full of medical ailments; herbs and a few water canteens for the Water Tribe healers in the colonies.

“Remember,” Zuko begins awkwardly “Mum used to tell us to roll around in the mud if we got burned.”

Out of habit she almost says _Well then, you should keep doing it. Because you belong in the mud_. But she resists. “Yeah, and you absolutely _loved_ doing it.”

“I did not!” Zuko protests “That was you! Whenever _I_ got burnt, you used to drop on the mud alongside me.”

“No Zuzu, I’m certain that was not the case.”

She remembers how angry mother used to be with her for destroying her robes. But it wasn’t real anger, it was fond anger, as if Ursa was rolling her eyes at how idiotic her children were being.

They squabble for a bit, until the nurse comes and pulls them apart.

“It will leave a scar,” the nurse says, “But it will heal.”

Zuko thinks of the relationship between him and his sister.

“I hope so,” he replies.

**oOo**

Another firebending teacher discarded, another proud father and another day gone. Azula kneels before Ozai.

“Father, I wish to choose my own master. All these fools are useless.”

Suffice to say, Ozai is not pleased with her choice.

**oOo**

Iroh frowns when he sees her blue fire.

“Fire is life”, he tells them, kneeling on the grassy floor as the two children flank him on either side.

Azula _knew_ fire was life. The little heartbeat that throbbed in her palms has never failed to mesmerize her. But…

Fire hasn’t felt like life for a long time.

The blue flames flicker to white for a single second.

**oOo**

Azula has _noticed_. She has noticed how father does not actually _do_ anything. He lets his advisors and nameless lackeys deal with the internal matters of the Fire Nation. _He_ spends most of his time sitting on the war council.

The one time she eavesdropped on them, she heard her father say “Let us burn everything to the ground” and rolled her eyes because surely, that was a joke. It sounded like something a villain would say from one of her scrolls

And then it wasn’t.

But… Father was supposed to be _better_ than this. He was smarter. _Surely,_ he realized the Fire Nation couldn’t spread their greatness if everything was burnt to the ground… Valuable land for agriculture would be in ashes, tax collection would not occur to better their Nation and it would leave millions of refugees hell bent on revenge.

It was dumb.

This was a treasonous thought. Azula was well aware of that.

She does so anyway.

**oOo**

Azula has also noticed that Uncle’s proverbs are _annoying_.

**oOo**

Zuko realizes that he never truly knew how to breath up until now. He breathes slowly and steadily and fills his lungs until they feel like they’re about to break his ribs. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

It feels freeing. Refreshing. It stokes his Inner Flame and they blaze higher.

(Not as high as before mother left, but high enough)

He has also realized that, no matter how wise his uncle is, Iroh is… eccentric. Tea is just hot-leaf juice. They have gotten into many arguments concerning this.

Also, proverbs are _dumb_.

**oOo**

Azula has noticed that proverbs annoy Zuko _way more_ than anything against his honor. So, of course there is only one course of action left to take.

“A hippocow will never catch up to a cheetahcow no matter how fast it runs.”

Zuko groans and puts his hands against his head. “Shut _up_ Lala.”

“A lion – ”

“Stop it!”

**oOo**

Azula has also learnt to _never_ taste Zuko’s tea.

It is bitter, sweet and sour at the same time, and she cannot fathom how her brother managed to make tea this complicated. Gagging, she says “Eugh, I’ve never tasted anything _this_ terrible.”

Zuko stands about three feet from her, wearing an apron the cook lent him (he protested vehemently at that) holding a teapot in his hands and looking at them as they taste his tea. Something falls in his eyes when she makes her remark.

“You could have at least pretended,” he grumbles and sets the teapot down.

“Well, I think it’s _delightful_,” Iroh beams and Azula can see that it physically hurts him to say that. Zuzu doesn’t pick on it though and smiles a wide, goofy smile unfit for a prince.

Iroh pours the tea down the nearest plant when Zuzu isn’t looking.

Huh. She can lie to make someone feel better. Interesting.

**oOo**

Iroh has committed fratricide more times this week than is probably normal for a healthy, functioning family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh...
> 
> So... about this fic. I am NOT abandoning it (probably) It's just... I've realized it's a pretty bad idea to ah... start a novel-length fic for your first story. So... it might be going on a hiatus. I dunno, depends on my mood really.
> 
> Also, also. When I first started AO3, i had absolutely no idea how the tagging system worked... nor did i realize how different it was going to be from what I first imagined it.
> 
> Ah well. You live you learn. So, I'll now be updating tags as I go along the story.
> 
> A trillion thanks to the amazing Shelty Lacquer for betaing them.


	5. in which bonding occurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bonding occurs. Title says it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I'm not dead. Yet.
> 
> Before the chapter starts, a huge thank you to Max (Akalish on Ao3) for looking over this chapter and being my soundboard. Some parts have been written by her.
> 
> Another thank you to SheltyLacquer for polishing up my English and being awesome.

The palace is dark at night, as always, with comforting cracks of moonlight slipping in through the areas with open ceilings. The hallways are forbiddingly silent, as Zuko picks his way through, to the place he finds himself going so often these days. Years of sneaking past the palace staff, avoiding Azula and father in equal measure, have improved his ability to be silent and unseen.

It is a simple matter to suppress his Flame, gliding through the darkness and avoiding the guards.

The area around the turtle-duck pond is perhaps the only part of the palace not ridden with guards. Unsurprising. Mother had liked her privacy. She’d said in no uncertain terms that this was the one place she’d like to herself. _Alone_. Father had protested. Mother had responded by beating the royal guard single-handedly. Azula had looked at her mother with stars in her eyes for weeks afterward.

Father hasn’t reappointed the staff yet. Perhaps it is an attempt at respecting the wishes of the dece – respecting _Mother’s _wishes. Zuko hopes it is. But he doesn’t know these days.

Just as he is about to walk into a courtyard, he _feels_ it. A brush on his conscience. A Flame, just beside the pond, rising and dying down, like a small candle only not… it’s stronger, as if the person is trying to suppress their presence, but is either too weak, too tired, or too conflicted to do it completely.

He halts, slowly creeping forward and spots the silhouette of his sister kneeling by the pond, wearing all black. Her Kemurikage mask sits on her face just as the Blue Spirit one sits on his. A gift from mother. She remembered, then.

He places a hand on her shoulder softly and is surprised when she startles.

He places his index finger against his mask. “Shhh…” He points towards them. “They’ll wake up any second now.”

One of the turtleducks lazily opens its eyes, freezes as it catches sight of Azula and promptly starts to backpaddle.

Oblivious as he is sometimes, even Zuko can’t miss the sagging of Azula’s shoulders, before she catches herself and straightens up.

The bread he clutches in his hand is warm when he hands it over to her. She stares at it, for several seconds, before coming to a decision and relieving him of the snack and holding it up for the little menaces to take. 

Hesitantly, the biggest turtle duck – the mother presumably – slowly waddles towards her. The mother shields her offspring behind her. Azula still thinks it is progress.

Protected by the mask, she smiles.

**oOo**

In the days that follow, they do not speak of the event, exchanging curious glances as discreetly as possible. But by nightfall, they return to the pond, donned in their respective costumes, and both ignoring the relief of seeing the other. Every night, a secret little meeting only they share. They don’t speak during these meetings – they hardly even touch. Zuko wears gloves afterward to honor this unspoken agreement. 

But the silence – broken only by the waddling of the turtle-ducks – is soothing. Invigorating. 

It becomes routine.

**oOo**

Azula has never noticed how empty the training grounds are. Eerie, with nothing but the clanking of porcelain from Iroh’s tea set breaking the silence.

She frowns and notes that her brother is nowhere in sight. She does not share many activities with Zuko, but time spent with their uncle – even in the guise of firebending training – is one of the few times a week where they inevitably encounter each other. Most days their firebending practice is separately scheduled for different timestamps, leaving them each to focus and develop at their respective levels. But twice a week they share their instructor, in the spirit of learning from each other and going back to the basics. 

It’s not the first time Zuko is late, she thinks, a balm against her confusion. With that in mind, she proceeds as she always does and bows to Uncle – her sifu – to show her respect before beginning. 

She goes through the motions of the kata, methodically and perfectly, aware of a stifling hollowness in the room. She doesn’t worry about _accidentally_ hitting her brother with a stray fireball, or about him _accidentally_ overreaching and jabbing her in the stomach.

The breathing exercises go… _quietly_. Which is definitely not normal. Almost peaceful, without Zuzu’s ceaseless whining.

It’s nice, not to be held back. It’s _nice_.

But… Zuko still doesn’t attend, even as the sun moves to its zenith.

She’s allowed to wonder about his absence, right? Zuzu is the _last_ person who’d miss a training session. Unless he’s literally _dying_, and even then, he’d probably find some way to attend. He’s too stubborn to die anyway.

“Uncle, where is my brother?”

Uncle shakes his head. Then proceeds to watch her, before coming to some sort of conclusion and a knowing glint appears in his eyes.

“I do not know, niece.”

A few minutes pass in silence. Azula slips on a stray stone and stares at it as if it is the source of all her life’s problems and ever-growing abandonment issues. 

“Niece, would you please check up on him?” he says with that little smile as if he knows something that she doesn’t. Azula narrows her eyes. “I am getting quite worried.”

She nods stiffly. Uncle is worried. It wouldn’t do for Uncle to worry about something like this. It might interfere with her training session. She needs to be _powerful_, to prove Uncle’s worth as a tutor to her father.

When she opens the door to her brother’s chambers, there is a person-shaped lump sitting on the bed. More specifically, it is a person-shaped lump curled into a ball, clearly sulking.

“Dum dum,” Azula rolls her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not here!” says the person-shaped lump.

“Of _course_, you aren’t. _I_ was talking to the blanket.”

“The blanket wants you to go away.”

“The _Princess_ of the Fire Nation does not listen to mere blankets. They are _beneath_ me. The only person who can order me is the Fire Lord or a prince.”

Zuko crawls out from underneath the covers and scowls. “_Fine_, I’m a prince. Now get out!”

Azula makes a show of inspecting her nails. The paint is peeling off. She should take another trip to the spa soon. “Uncle is worried because you didn’t come to practice today.”

Zuko looks like he’s about to snap, eyebrows furrowed, and mouth poised to yell. He apparently thinks better of it and turns his head to the side to stare at the blood-red walls of his chamber. “Well, tell Uncle I’m not coming today.” He swallows. “He – He’ll understand.”

Debatable. _Father never used to understand_, Azula almost says. Instead, with a little more tact, she asks, “What’s the problem?”

“I’m uh. Sick?” He says unconvincingly.

“Hm, yes. _Sick_.” Azula observes drily.

He’s quiet. Then, “Father’s mad at me.”

“Father’s always mad at you,” she points out.

Zuko pulls a face, offended, before realizing how true it is and pinching his nose. “He’s _mad_ mad at me.”

“Ah,” Azula nods sagely as if she knows _exactly_ what he means. She scans him and frowns. “Zuzu, where’s your dagger?”

The aforementioned weapon of the Earth Kingdom is, perhaps, the most treasured object that her brother possesses; deadly and beautiful, it’s a gift Azula envies and a knife that is second to none in the palace. He hordes it like a dragon, always carrying it on his person by the belt of his robes ever since Mother left and making it that much harder for her to reach.

It is nowhere in sight.

Zuzu gives her a look, bordering on bitterness. “What do _you_ care?”

It is a good question. His pearl dagger is a frequent trophy she tries to steal, even if she knows nothing of how to handle it. It should thrill her that he’s lost his most treasured belonging, and for a moment, that small flame of satisfaction flares beneath her chest, vicious, cruel, hungry … only for it to die down. Smothered to ashes and leaving behind only cinders. 

The feeling is disconcerting, leaving her wrong-footed and confused. It’s not _care_, but… 

She blinks, unsure of how to respond because it’s not care – it’s _not_ – but she is cold and uneasy, unable to formulate an answer she doesn’t have. 

She shrugs and the silence between them is awkward – _eerie_ – and suffocating.

“You please father by _breathing_,” her brother says at last, not bitterly, but… tired. “How?”

Azula thinks of her father’s love. She thinks of the slightest quirking of lips, almost unnoticeable if you weren’t looking for it. She thinks of stern gazes, eyes flashing with foreboding at the slightest mistake. She thinks of burn wounds brought forth by incompetence, painful but coverable, often treatable without leaving behind scars. She wonders what Zuko found insufficient with his mother.

“I’m a prodigy,” she says instead.

“Right,” he exhales. “Right.”

And for some reason, his answer – as if it tells him nothing – infuriates her. Since they seem to be having this odd… _heart-to-heart_, Azula adds, “_You _seemed to have mother’s love by simply breathing.”

Zuko turns his horrified gaze on her. 

“She _loved_ you, Lala,” he says it like it’s a fact when Azula _knows _it is not. “Of _course,_ she did. She was _mother_!”

And all Azula remembers are whispers of the court and the servants scurrying past in fear. Always muttering to themselves, _monster, monster, monster_…

_What is wrong with that child?_

She bristles and doesn’t answer. Doesn’t want to share her… insecurities – experiences – _truths_ – with Zuko. And that thought baffles her, the not wanting part. Not wanting to hear his counterarguments, doesn’t want to believe otherwise because otherwise means doubt and doubt is weakness. 

… she doesn’t want to taint his image of Ursa. 

She does little else but raise an eyebrow at his declaration, hoping he doesn’t see the anger, the bitterness in her eyes as her silver tongue dances to a different tune but no less cutting, “And father is _father_. What’s your point?”

Zuko looks away. 

A thought pops into her head, then, unbidden and unwelcome. Traitorous in a way that appalls her for a single second, her knees almost giving out underneath her, before she regains her composure. She smirks, hoping it hides her nervousness.

“Do you want it back?”

Zuko knits his eyebrows, “Want… what back?”

Azula doesn’t respond. Simply waits for the dots to click in his head and he blanches. “My _dagger?_”

“No, Zuzu, let’s go on a hunt for the Avatar,” she rolls her eyes.

There is silence. A quiet exhale later, a glint appears in his eyes; a grin she hasn’t seen in _so_ long, hadn't realized she’s missed. She can’t help grinning back.

“Yes,” he says.

**oOo**

“You’re telling me you had _no_ plan?” Azula hisses from her position in the tree.

“I _did_,” he defends. “We were going to go to father’s chambers and– _shh_.”

“And how do _you_ know that the dagger will be in his personal chambers?”

“Well, uh,” he blinks, shifting uncomfortably because, really, it’s more of an instinct that he knows but… “Father only goes to a few parts of the palace, nowadays. He wouldn’t keep my dagger in, like, the _throne room_.”

The younger sibling blinks, conceding to his point. Azula continues for him, “I’m guessing you already checked in the Fire Lord’s office?”

“Yes.”

A pause. 

“You actually thought this through,” she says. “I would almost be impressed, if not for the fact that you did not think of how we would_ get there_, without breaking the windows.”

“Well, uh…”

“The passageway,” Azula decides. “We’ll go through one of those. I know one of them leads to father’s chambers.”

**oOo**

The tunnels are dark.

This would usually not be a problem for two firebenders. But they might suffocate from the smoke, so they simply walk in pitch black, holding each other to make sure they do not separate. _That_ would be catastrophic.

Azula doesn’t particularly mind. She’s been here several times. She _might_ have had a phase in which she could have sworn that the spirit of Sozin was staring at her, but she is over that now. They are just tunnels, dull, dank, boring old tunnels which are _great_ for eavesdropping.

But –

“You’re shaking”, she notes. Zuko very pointedly stops shaking in response.

A few minutes in and – “Are you still afraid of the dark?”

“No,” he denies, too quick. Then relents, because he’s never been able to lie to her. “Maybe.”

“Pathetic”, she says and definitely does _not_ squeeze his hand. She sets a different pace, one quicker than before and she tells herself it’s only to hasten the completion of their less-than-auspicious endeavor. But father will most definitely be furious should he discover them, so really, it’s not for Zuko’s sake that they need to speed along the process.

If her brother heaves a grateful sigh, well… it’s a bonus.

**oOo**

Zuko is quiet when he opens the drawer. Zuko is quiet when he slips in his dagger. Zuko goes rigid; unmoving as terror courses through his blood, freezing him in place when father tosses in his bed.

Azula drags him back.

Later, days later, he will say _thank you_.

Days later, Azula will tell him _you’re welcome_.

For now, they go through the passageway in silence.

**oOo**

Azula bows to Uncle, a gesture of respect from a student to her teacher. 

“Prince Iroh, I would appreciate it if you impart to me the knowledge which you have bestowed upon my brother,” she says eloquently.

She’s heard words such as these used often in court, and though she thinks it’s an odd way of phrasing a command, she believes it fits the context. 

Uncle pours his tea. Uncle grins at her. “Of course, niece. _After_ I finish this lovely jasmine tea.”

An hour later, she says impertinently, “_I want to learn. _You will teach me now.”

Uncle caresses his roast duck. Uncle grins at her. “Of course, Niece. _After_ I finish this lovely roast duck.”

Azula doesn’t stomp, because the Princess of the Fire Nation does not _stomp_.

Azula is not so patient fifteen minutes later. She stomps back to Uncle for a third attempt, gritting her teeth as she stresses, “Uncle, tea –”

“Truthfully, niece,” he’s pouring more Agni-damned _tea_, “I do not know. It is your brother who made the move – entirely his invention. You would have to request _him_ to teach you.”

Azula blinks and wonders dully which of the two concepts is more incomprehensible. The idea that _Zuzu_ managed to invent a move or the concept of her _asking_ for something.

The first one is more likely, she decides.

**oOo**

“Esteemed brother,” she says to a bewildered Zuko, who hasn’t heard her refer to him as anything other than _Zuzu_ for approximately half a decade, “I, Princess of the Fire Nation, formally request you to teach me the move you have brought upon this world.”

“What?”

Azula stares at him.

Zuko stares back utterly baffled. Not from a lack of understanding – she hopes – but by the sheer prospect of her _asking_ for something. 

Azula sighs.

“Zuzu. Teach me that spin-move you do.” She pauses, praying for Agni’s help as the words reluctantly leave her lips. “Please.”

Zuko stares for a moment longer, blinks, before a small smile breaks over his features. He sets aside his calligraphy assignment, delicately, and tries not to be too expressive in his eagerness to teach his sister as he stands and leaves the room. Azula is close on his heels, pretending not to smirk too smugly. 

**oOo**

“I forbid it.”

Ozai towers over him in an admirable effort to be intimidating. Iroh is unfazed. He has known his brother since he was born an uncrying, serious baby in the royal crib. He doesn’t think that _anything_ Ozai does could possibly scare him.

_(He will be proven wrong.)_

“Brother, may I ask for your reasons?”

“No,” Ozai sneers, “The Prince of the Fire Nation – _my_ son – will _not_ learn swordsmanship. He does not need it; the gift of Agni is sufficient. The people will perceive it as a sign of weakness should he require something as meager as _steel_ to help him hold his own against our enemies.”

Iroh wonders why Ozai refers to Zuko as the _Prince of the Fire Nation_ instead of the Crown Prince. And then he doesn’t, gently compartmentalizing his brother’s lack of empathy into the deepest corners of his mind. His unfathomable expectations for greatness come with a price, this Iroh knows, and it’s better to let sleeping tigerdillos rest. For now.

“Prince Lu Ten was quite proficient at them,” he says instead, quietly ignoring the pang in his heart. “He once claimed that Prince Zuko had a talent for the art.” Iroh raises an eyebrow. “I presume you do not wish to imply that Prince _Lu Ten_ was weak?”

“I would never do so,” Ozai contradicts, in a way which says that he would _definitely_ do so.

“Of course not,” Iroh agrees amiably, in a way that says that he _clearly_ does not.

They drop the matter.

**oOo**

Later in the extravagant courts of the Fire Nation, during twilight on the Summer Solstice Festival among wine and dances and politics, amidst the nobles of high birth and members of the military, he says loudly, “Lady Ursa was a formidable foe on the battlefield, despite being a non-bender, was she not?”

It is taboo to mention the late Princess and to do so in the vicinity of the Fire Lord is almost sacrilegious. Despite the formal allegation of her treachery to the Dragon Throne, the details of what and why is still unclear. Amidst the crowd of nobility trading gossip, treacherous talk is not unheard of, and rumors and news tend to reach even the farthest corners of the land. 

The Fire Lord bears the title of Ozai the Usurper, and it is said that the Princess fled in response to his ascension, and even though none dares to speak the title, the knowledge lies and Iroh gathers the ears and mouths of the court with ease. 

By the next gathering a mere few days later, a high portion of both nobility, military, and commoner express their displeasure of a lack of non-bender representation and support from the Imperial Family. 

Iroh sips his tea calmly as Ozai fumes. The messenger hawk for Shu Jing leaves long before his brother bows and relents to Iroh’s suggestion of training the Crown Prince in the art of the sword. 

**oOo**

If asked for his first impression of his mentor, Zuko would answer that Master Piandao had been a man he had immediately admired. His body moved with the grace of a swordmaster who had defected and defeated a hundred soldiers sent to retrieve him. He did not have an Inner Fire. Yet his body _radiated_ with energy with near-perfect control of his chi, a feat regarded impossible for non-benders.

In a way, it was true. When he bows to his soon-to-be mentor, Zuko feels grudging respect for the man’s silent dignity and the power which surrounds him.

The Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, however, does not forget that this is the same man who betrayed their glorious nation and _deserted_. An act considered worse than the worst of crimes.

Father’s words course through him, eroding his admiration.

_“He abandoned the Fire Nation. He abandoned his country. He abandoned _us_.”_

Prince Zuko thinks, with disdain, that Master Piandao has no loyalty. He wonders why the swordmaster agreed to teach him; He has refused the requests of the countless aristocracy. Is it because he is the prince? The fact hadn’t deterred the man from refraining to teach _Lu Ten_, the former Crown Prince and pride and joy of the nation.

Master Piandao regards him with a penetrating gaze, and Zuko feels… _inadequate_ for a second, before indignation rises inside him. _He_ isn’t the one who left the nation and gave up the war, he has no reason to feel guilty. He holds his head up, high and haughty like he’s seen Azula do innumerable times.

“Master Piandao,” he says.

Master Piandao bows, an unreadable expression marring his face. “Prince Zuko. Would you do me the honors of showing me your skills with the sword?”

“Yes, of course,” he says, nodding curtly and retrieving his dual dao blades, gifted to him by Lu Ten.

Holding the swords hurts, a phantom pain in his ears, which know that he’ll never hear his cousin’s encouragements and carefree laughs again; Going through the ever-familiar motions of the kata hurts even more, almost as if he’s slicing through memories and shattering them, never to be recreated again. He doesn’t hear Lu Ten’s applauds once he finishes.

“That was well done, Your Highness,” Piandao says with a slight smile. Zuko resents him for not having Lu Ten’s wide grin he sees in Uncle all the time. “Who taught you?”

“My cousin,” Zuko says because it still hurts to say his name.

“Ah, Prince Lu Ten,” Piandao nods and Zuko flinches. “I remember him. He was a formidable young man.”

“_You_ refused to teach him,” Zuko says, accusing.

“I did.”

“_Why?”_

The word comes out harsher than he had intended. Master Piandao remains silent, looking at him with an expression that resembles disappointment. It’s an expression he’s intimately familiar with, and its weight causes him to slump. “Why did you choose to teach _me?_”

Still, Master Piandao doesn’t reply, instead picking up his blade to perform the same katas the prince just attempted. Zuko watches in ill-disguised awe as his newly-appointed mentor sheathes the sword. He knows at that moment, if he ever got into a fight with Master Piandao, he would never stand a chance.

“It is presumptuous of you to assume I have chosen you as my pupil, Prince Zuko,” he says, snapping Zuko out of his trance. Zuko blinks, for a moment stunned. 

“You haven’t?” 

“Give me a reason to teach you, Prince Zuko. Give me a reason to leave the retirement your grandfather so graciously awarded me.” Is… is that _sarcasm? _“And move to the Capital for the sole purpose of training you.”

A dryness seizes Zuko’s throat as he attempts to swallow. Racking his brain for a possible answer, he is tempted to say _I am the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation_. He outranks the swordmaster and it is the duty of the peasant to serve his lord.

But…

But _Lu Ten_ was a prince. The fact hadn’t helped _him_, and Zuko is not even a proper crown prince. Azula is the objectively better heir to the throne, in almost every aspect. At this point, it is only formality that gives him the title; he does not doubt that once he comes of age, he’ll be forced to sign his power off to his sister. Unless of course, he manages to prove himself to his father.

He thinks. And thinks some more.

And cannot come up with an answer. Why does _he_ deserve to be taught by the greatest swordmaster, when not even _Lu Ten_ didn’t have that luxury?

The only thing he has going for him is…

“I… I just want to _learn_. I know…” It hurts to admit it, even if he has heard it his whole life, but, “I _know_ I’m not talented like Azula. I’m good with knives – at least I think I am – and I… I want to know how to fight. I want to protect and embrace my people. All of them.”

A small pause. His soft breathing is in perfect sync with his increasing heart rate.

“This probably isn’t convincing.” Zuko pinches the bridge of his nose, “You defected the military after all.”

Master Piandao stares at him again with _that Agni-damned unreadable impression_ and Zuko is on the verge of stomping away when Piandao finally speaks. “You… have found something this Nation lost a century ago.” For the first time, his expression eases into a smile and the swordmaster presses his palms together. “I would be honored to be your teacher.”

In the depths of his mind, Zuko thinks his father is wrong. Master Piandao doesn’t seem like a man who would betray his Nation.

**oOo**

“You were right, Iroh.”

The admission is grudging and Iroh presses his fingers to his cup, relishing the burn which comes from heating the earthen pot. He hides an amused smile as Master Piandao continues. “The White Lotus wants a puppet ruler to avoid further conflict.”

Iroh nods, “It wishes to divide the power of a monarch into a Council.”

“I still fully support them in their endeavor, however…”

Iroh sips the burning tea.

“Perhaps we shall reconsider our conditions for a mindless ruler. Prince Zuko is… quite an unusual individual, isn’t he?”

“Yes, I believe it is partly his mother’s influence.”

Piandao’s face turns stern. “However, this is a small change to the conditions. Do not forget your promise, Iroh.”

“I will not. Once Prince Zuko ascends the throne, the Royal Council shall have representatives from the entirety of the Fire Nation, instead of only the Capital.” Iroh places an empty teacup on the table, his throat burning from the Jasmine tea he just gulped. Memories of Lu Ten invade his mind once again, but the burn is pleasant, not painful.

“That is good,” Piandao says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly fluffy fluff in this chapter. In the next one, all shit is about to break loose. And yes, this is an extremely subtle attempt at foreshadowing.
> 
> Feel free to send me a message on Tumblr if you wanna chat about life and stuff. Username's "lightdas12"


	6. Temporary Scars and Less Temporary Executions

Father’s presence hangs over Azula like a constant, vigilant shadow. He hasn’t breathed a word about the missing dagger, but there’s no way he hasn’t noticed. She feels his eyes tracking her, even though she knows it isn’t likely; father is too busy running a nation to observe her every move. But paranoia grips her in its vice-like grip and her muscles scream at the increasingly-harder regimes she forces herself through. She feels her father’s radiating disapproval in his scowls and frowns, proportionate to the amount of time she spends with Uncle.

Once, when she was heading to the spa, her footsteps ceased to a halt when she heard an argument.

“– careful. Do not _dare_ turn her against me else –”

“I have no plans to do such a thing, brother.”

“Iroh,” The deep, gravelly voice of her father spits the word with such venom that she flinches behind the door she’s currently pressed her ear against. “You were _weak_, and you’ve lost your chance at the throne. Father was foolish to favor you. But mark my words, unlike you, I’m not afraid to do what it takes. _If_ you’re grooming my daughter to overthrow me –”

“I’m doing no such thing,” Uncle says, mildly infuriating as usual, “Would you like some tea?”

Azula knows, without seeing that her father is carefully controlling his temper to avoid breathing fire. “If you think me so naïve as to fall for such an _obvious_ ploy to assassinate me –”

“I would never kill you in front of prying ears, brother.”

Ozai sneers, “I don’t feel the presence of anyone near us. We’re alone.”

“The walls have ears –”

Azula had scrambled to run from the conversation then, much to the annoyance of her curiosity and mildly mortified at being discovered.

During these tensions, she keeps her head low, nodding obediently during her father’s scarce visits and speaks little, not to disturb the fragile peace which she knows is going to break with one wrong move, one wrong word.

So, when Zuko comes bounding to her, grinning widely, his unchecked joy _feels_ wrong under the oppressive silence which plagues the palace. 

“So, who died?” She asks, raising an eyebrow because it’s better to joke about the morbidity rather than confront it.

“Father invited me to a war council.”

Her brother says it with such glee that she almost feels guilty for the jealousy flaring in her gut. The ugly part of her, the part which _hates_ Zuko for the unconditional love he received from mother, snarls maniacally. She pretends that the ominous foreboding creeping up her spine is simply a part of her envy.

She cannot summon joy for the news, so she doesn’t pretend to.

“Okay,” she says curtly and promptly leaves, leaving Zuko to stare confusedly at her back.

** oOo **

Azula stares at the maroon doors and the two insolent guards who prevent her from simply barging in. Not that she’d ever do such a thing, of course – she isn’t _impulsive_ – but they prevent her from pressing her ear against the doors, as she’s done many times, and eavesdrop.

She doesn’t know what makes her act that way, what makes her so _inquisitive_ about what’s going beyond – a strange mixture of jealousy and concern perhaps.

“Would you like to be let in?”

Azula turns on her heels and nods jerkily.

She enters, with her usual confidence and grace and no one dares argue when she sits between her brother and father. Zuko glances at her with brows furrowed, in an expression bordering resentment. She’s stolen the crown prince’s rightful place near the Fire Lord – an appropriate metaphor for what is probably, inevitably going to happen. She doesn’t look at him, it’s better for him to learn this way.

The meeting is going uneventfully – until of course, her brother opens his mouth.

She kicks him from underneath the table, and he pays no mind to her, just continues speaking, continues babbling about justice and morality. Babbles about an ideal, which doesn’t exist during the war they live in.

Azula is a prodigy in every sense of the word – she understands the profound philosophy the Fire Sages preach (even if Father has no patience for it); she is a brilliant firebender and the imperial style comes as naturally to her as breathing; her calligraphy is nothing short of perfect and her photographic memory allows her to remember history with relative ease.

But she thinks that the true reason father favors her over Zuko is his inability to understand that one has to do what one has to do during war.

She’s always understood that intimately. Zuko never did.

** oOo **

“Brother, your reckless stupidity never ceases to amaze me,” Azula says bluntly, inspecting her nails, with none of the subtlety Zuko has come to associate with her. He halts his hot squats to glare at her.

“But those soldiers are new recruits, hardly of age!” He insists, “They don’t deserve this. I’m the crown prince of our nation. It’s my duty to –”

“You’re thirteen.” Her words are casual and relaxed, and Zuko would suspect that she didn’t particularly care for the conversation if not for how intensely she gazes at her nails, as if they’ve personally offended her. “You realize that the General you have challenged – a terrible disrespect, I might add – is more than thrice your age? With possibly decades of experience?”

“He doesn’t,” Zuko says firmly and Azula blinks. “Well,” he concedes, “He’s been _leading_ fights much longer than me. But I doubt he’s ever been in an actual fight.”

“And why do you think that? Most generals get years of formal training, and I doubt General Bujing is any different.”

“He doesn’t walk like a soldier.” Zuko says confidently, “Doesn’t walk like you and me – We’ve been learning how to fight since we were born. He doesn’t even pose himself as uncle does. He walks like a nobleman. It wouldn’t surprise me if he hadn’t seen a battle in his life.”

Azula squints, to make sure that her brother _is_ her brother, and not some doppelgänger masquerading as him. He shifts awkwardly underneath her gaze and starts to stammer out a bunch of randomly strung sentences which make little to no sense, which is enough to convince her of his authenticity. She asks, “And how do _you_ know how soldiers walk like?”

“Master Piandao taught me! Soldiers walk with their guard up all the time as if anything will attack them. Lu – Our cousin used to walk like that. You… you walk like that, too, in front of father.”

Azula stops staring at her nails and turns to stare at him instead. She thinks it is a pity that father never gave her brother a chance, before deciding that he was weak for being born on a moonless night, weak for the ideals he clings to (ideals he inherited from mother; just another reason why she’s lucky). But his naivety does _not_ make him unobservant nor idiotic.

He isn’t someone to be underestimated.

“I can _take_ him, Lala,” Zuko’s golden eyes burn with the weight of his empathy and justice, and for a moment, Azula is overwhelmed by it. “If I win this, those people will not have to die and –” He shakes his head, “It’ll save lives. That’s all the reason I need.”

When he cuts himself off, Azula comes to a realization, which turns her Inner Flame to ice, and it is hard to breathe for a second before she says, “That’s not the only reason, is it?”

She thinks she feels a mixture of pity and anger.

Judging from how Zuko crosses his arms and avoids her gaze, she knows she is right.

“You want to prove yourself to father,” she states, and it is not a question.

_ How dare he steal away Father’s love? _

“That… that would be nice…” He swallows.

_ How dare he? _

“Well _Zuzu_,” She says, “I hope this is worth risking your life for.” She turns around and heads toward the spa to relieve her imminent migraine.

“It is,” Zuko whispers inaudibly behind her, before falling into the familiar patterns of his stances until his muscles are throbbing instead of his heart and until the night is lit up by the moon.

When he heads towards the turtle-duck pond, his face feels unnaturally exposed. He feels the distinct absence of his mask along with the absence of a certain, blue-firebender by his side. He throws bread to the turtle-ducks and focuses on breathing.

** oOo **

Azula is careful to smile.

As she watches the scene unfold and horror pools slowly in her stomach, she is careful to smile – a haughty smile, which only shakes slightly at the edges; a feat Azula is quite proud of.

This is her fault.

She wasn’t perfect enough.

It is also her brother’s fault.

Zuko falls to his knees, tears leaking from his eyes, and she watches, still smiling carefully, balancing the urge to _scream_ at him to get up. The only way he can get out of this now, back into father’s graces is by fighting, and impressing father. Hopefully convincing him that he _can_ be a useful tool in the Fire Lord’s arsenal.

Father will most definitely _not_ be impressed with his son falling to his knees.

Besides her, Uncle makes no effort to hide his rage, smoke flaring from his nostrils.

“You _will_ learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher.”

Father raises his arm, and Azula finds herself unable to look away. She must look like the picture of a monster – donning a fake smile and unblinking eyes trained on the destruction she’s about to witn–

The scent of ozone and a crackle of electricity makes her flinch, making her relive the hatred for lightning she’s had forever. She barely registers her uncle standing up, moving into the Lightning Stance next to her. The same stance she’d been trying to master for a year now.

She shuts her eyes painfully tight – and even then, she can _see_ it.

When she dares to open them, it is not black clouds outside the window which greet her vision, nor is it her father’s anticipating eyes, encouraging her to mimic him and create the abhorrent blue ray of electricity herself. Instead, she sees her brother, passed out on the floor, clutching his charred face – a scar which looks bad, but… not as bad as it could be.

Ozai holds his sizzling hand – from lightning, she assumes. His eyes are shrouded in pain and bordering panic. Uncle leaps from the stands, landing on the arena with barely-concealed rage. The whispers of the previously-silent crowd expand exponentially; everyone’s eyes trained on the chaos.

Ever since Iroh’s return, the court has been tensing for an Agni Kai between the two brothers, waiting for a bid of power by Iroh. Azula never thought her Uncle would do something like this – the war left him… _soft_ and weak. Broken. The wild anger on his face reminds her – and everyone in the room that he’d been a general, and a good one at that.

Azula briefly entertains the idea of praying to Agni, as a final farewell to father, before Iroh slumps, all fight drained from him. He looks tired.

“You’ve marked him, brother,” Uncle says, grimly “You cannot do so again.”

“I cannot,” Ozai amiably agrees, in a nonchalant tone as if they’re merely agreeing on the weather, “But you,” his lips quirk into a delighted smile, “You _interfered_ in a sacred dual.”

Iroh nods. That is when the hushed whispers, which had enveloped the stands, shatters and erupts into a stunned silence.

“My brother has committed the gravest of sins,” Ozai commands, and nods towards Iroh, “Not only has he defied the will of the Fire Lord, but it is an extreme disrespect to our sacred god, Agni, to interfere in a dual.” Ozai scans the crowd, looking for any who might disagree. Several open their mouths to protest, before closing it and turning the other way. “The punishment for such an act of disrespect is severe. Guards, it is with a heavy heart that I ask you to arrest my brother and place him in the dungeons.”

The Fire Lord’s smirk does not match his words.

The guards reluctantly gather around the Dragon of the West, apprehensive and fearful of his wrath. They needn’t worry though.

Iroh does not protest when he is dragged out.

“You are all dismissed now,” Ozai says.

Azula sits on the stands, almost in a daze, as everyone slowly, but steadily trickles out, until only her and Father are left. His golden eyes bore into her, slowly carving her apart through the weight of his gaze. It is the first semblance of eye contact they’ve made since she was brave enough to steal Zuko’s daggers.

He smiles deceptively sweet, his eyes cold.

She smiles back.

“Your brother has disgraced me,” he says as if he hadn’t already announced it to the world, _marked_ it upon his son; temporarily if he was lucky.

“He has,” she agrees. She gets the hidden message from the event; in a way, it is a punishment for her – a warning, if she dares disobey him. Useless and rebellious tools will be discarded without remorse. “I presume I will take on the title of the Crown Princess” It is not a question, but a fact.

She wonders if she’s supposed to feel joy. Wonders if the thrilling anxiety she feels at his praise is supposed to be joy.

“I hope you do not disappoint me.”

She feels too much dread for it to be joy.

“No, father.”

He files out, leaving her shivering in the sweltering heat of the arena.

** oOo **

“This is a lavish cell they gave you,” comes Piandao’s dry voice.

Iroh exhales, and smoke fills the dingy little room in which he sits cross-legged. His prison is dull, dreary, clammy and cold, and worse, infested with cobwebs. A thick residue of dust lies on the floor and the cell is just barely short of being rat-infested.

It is most definitely not a cell fit for royalty. Ozai is even pettier than he imagined.

“Interfering in the Agni Kai was perhaps not the wisest course of action… Your brother has been pulling strings amongst his connections for quite a while now, trying to convince them that you’re a shoddy old fool who has been softened, and he’s been sniffing for the slightest hint of weakness or treason from you. Whatever he has in store for you, I cannot imagine it will be pretty.”

Iroh nods his assent, “Yes, I cannot imagine so... The tea here is bland and tasteless as well,” he gags exaggeratedly to illustrate his point, “Almost like my nephew’s, when he first started.”

“This derails everything,” Piandao shakes his head, “If only the Fire Lord had not been so hasty in banishing his son – we might have slipped something into his drink when the prince came of age. But now… Now we’ve lost our most valuable associate on the inside. I’ll most likely be excused in no uncertain terms. Ming will be our only member in the Capital, on the inside.”

The guard outside, who is currently overhearing some rather treasonous words, perks her head at her name. Then, she goes back to staring intensely at the spider making its way across the walls.

“I don’t regret it,” Iroh says quietly. “Would you let a boy be mutilated by a man twice his size? Because if so, I’m doubting my decision to –”

“I’m not blaming you, Iroh. I wholeheartedly agree with your statement. I’m merely stating the consequences of the decisions you have taken.”

Iroh stays silent.

“I hope the Fire Nation doesn’t descend into civil war,” Piandao says, then glances at the door where a certain princess is trying to bully her way inside. He bows. “I will take my leave. I believe someone wishes to see you.”

Outside the cell, his niece suspiciously narrows her eyes and pointedly waits until Master Piandao is out of sight, before striding in as if she owns the place. 

“Do not worry about anyone overhearing us – I took care of the guard outside,” Azula says, then takes note of the horrendous state of the place and wrinkles her nose. “This cell is hardly fit for a prince.”

“I do not believe I have the title of Prince anymore.”

Azula nods stiffly, “Yes. Father is responsible for that. He has decreed that –” She cuts herself off with a pensive look, then continues, “Zuko’s woken up. He’s still in the infirmary. He has a burn – but the healers say that he’ll heal without scars, provided he’s given the right medical attention.”

“Water tribe healing is a miracle, as always,” Iroh says. When Azula sniffs in disdain, he adds, “Do not deny them this, Niece. The Fire Nation soldiers owe as much to colonial healers as they do to our growing advancement in medicine. We would have many more casualties, were it not for them.”

“Yes, of course,” she says shortly and opens her mouth to say something, before closing it again and intensely avoiding his gaze. “I… Why did you not fight? You could have –”

“Niece, sometimes the easiest solution is merely an illusion, hiding the conflicts which will come after. Ozai might not be well-liked, but he has allies in court we do not know of yet. Besides,” He smiles at her, “You didn’t _really_ want me to fight him, did you?”

“I… No. I am loyal to the Fire Lo – my father. Also, perhaps I should inform you –” A brief hesitation, one which could be easily missed, before she continues smoothly, “that I will be taking my leave now. I’ll request better conditions for you; this dingy cell is no place for –”

“Is there something you wish to tell me?” He asks, with a raised eyebrow.

“You will be – I mean, I wish to apologize,” the sentence falls hurriedly from her lips, and she scowls, offended that her own words have the audacity to betray her.

An awkward silence later, Uncle goads her, “Why are you sorry? You know this is no fault of yours and–”

“No, no it _is_ my fault,” Azula snaps, “I was careless – less than perfect. No doubt this is father’s way of punishing me.” Before Iroh can get a word in, she turns on her heels, “Now, if you don’t mind, I shall take my leave. A bath in the spa awaits me.”

She strides away, no different from how she came, and Iroh stares helplessly at her back. He, for the first time since his confinement, feels imprisoned by the bars.

Later, he realizes why she was in a hurry to leave. Rumors about the execution of the Dragon of the West spread like wildfire across the prison. Iroh lets out another smoke-filled sigh and tries to avoid thinking about the likelihood of civil war.

If his brother is foolish enough to execute him, Iroh hopes that Ozai will be competent enough to appease the nobles and the masses and prevent bloodshed…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, I seem to have abandoned all pretense of a normal update schedule. But fear not! I am not dead yet.
> 
> You all. Are SO amazing. All your reviews are super nice and they really do make me very, very happy! So thank you, to everybody who commented. They are the chocolate to my SOUL. And I use that comparison because it would be very hard to survive without chocolate.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the inherent misery in the chapter :D.
> 
> Huge thanks to Shelty Lacquer and SpectrumCrovn for being wonderful betas.

**Author's Note:**

> Zuko and Azula, in the end, are channeling my inner nerdiness. And just a gentle reminder that reviews are what makes a writer's life (like... you will not believe how much time I spend just... scrolling through the 18 reviews I got on my previous story which I've now deleted).
> 
> And another thing, if you have any ideas and want me to write them, then feel free to share them with me. I will appropriately credit you. Unless you're a guest or something (can you leave a comment as a guest? I don't really know.) And uh... I may or may not use ideas. Don't get mad. I just didn't get the inspiration for it.
> 
> Also, also, if you want to go on rants with me or discuss anything or just talk about our shared fandom, I would be like... ecstatic. I would absolutely love to talk to you and discuss about that one AU which you may or may not write or headcanons or theories or something.
> 
> Okay last thing I swear. I have a Tumblr Account where I do art. (Fandom art). So uh... if anyone's interested go check it out. https://lightdas12.tumblr.com/
> 
> *desperately tries to remember if there's anything else* *Nope nothing* *Are you sure Brain?* *Yes* *Didn't we have this same conversation during the exam?* *I dunno, I forgot* *That's exactly what you said then!*
> 
> Oh right! About the book "Love Amongst Dragons". I know there's a whole canon story to it, but I changed it, because it works better with this story. Also, when I reply to your comments, just keep in mind that I'm horribly awkward and my vocabulary consists of a lot of 'uhs'.


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